


In the Motions

by inqueblott



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Fluff, Humor, JJ don't care, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Seung Gil doesn't have time for this shit, Slow Burn, full of Korean drama cliches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inqueblott/pseuds/inqueblott
Summary: The last thing Seung Gil would welcome into his life is an epic, international romance worthy of Korean drama adaptation.He doesn’t want it. Doesn’t need it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is compliant with Season 1.
> 
> For those who asked about a playlist, you can find it [**here**](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCmQCZNKl51lezF_vrqXT6xuAsCE4RZwf)!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Vicissitude ___[English] - (n.) a change of circumstances or fortune, typically one that is unwelcome or unpleasant

All he had wanted was a cup of coffee. 

Seung Gil stares as his designated paper cup travels behind the coffee bar, never nearing its final destination at the pick-up counter. He has yet to see a single drop of milk poured into it and the espresso shot has, without a doubt, lost its heat by now. Yet the brunette barista continues the pretense of being busy while throwing shy smiles at the Canadian skater leaning over the counter. 

Disdain sits in the back of Seung Gil's mouth like a bad taste. He knows for a fact that Jean-Jacques Leroy hadn’t been ahead of him in line. It’s near impossible to miss someone that loud and… _loud_. He’s certain he himself hadn’t been spotted, and would rather keep it that way. The guy is clearly a talker. Unfortunately, with every minute that passes, it’s becoming less certain that Seung Gil will get his drink order without intervention. He wonders if he even wants it anymore, but he’d already paid for it. 

As the troubled introvert contemplates his options, the ache of a yawn begins in his throat. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and clenches his jaw to force the reflex down. He's low on sleep. The night before the flight into Moscow had been a restless one. Airports make him nervous, so the thought of that hadn’t made it any easier. The coffee is supposed to be a much needed shot of caffeine. He had thought he deserved that much after finally checking into this hotel.

Apparently not. 

The Canadian distraction leans further over the counter, bracing his forearms against its surface to bring his face closer to the blushing employee. He says something that makes the girl giggle as she twirls her fingers through a stand of hair. Seung Gil notes it’s the same hand that held a metal thermometer a few seconds ago and he grimaces.

This situation has many things that are unsanitary.

Deciding patience is a wasted effort, he finally leaves his waiting spot against the hotel cafe’s wall and makes his approach. 

“I’ve been waiting for my drink,” he declares at the counter. The barista blinks, confused by his appearance. Seung Gil stares at the paper cup in her hand. She looks down, following the direction of his gaze, and ceases smiling. Her face pales as she realizes just how long he’s been kept waiting and she flinches away in guilt. 

“I-I-I’m so sorry, sir!” she blurts in accented English. Clumsy with panic, her hands rush to turn on the milk steamer. 

“Could you replace the cold espresso first?” Seung Gil interrupts, voice sharp. 

“Y-yes! Please wait o-one moment. I will make a new one! R-right now!” She hurries to the back counter where the coffee grinder sits, the back of her neck red in embarrassment. She washes her hands while rinsing the portafilter, Seung Gil notes. His displeasure eases somewhat at that. 

Something firm nudges his left shoulder. Seung Gil looks down at the arm invading his personal space and follows it up to a familiar face. Right. That guy is still here. 

“Hey!” the taller figure skater greets upon eye contact. His mouth widens into a rakish grin. He is acting friendlier than he should, considering that the two had never spoken with the other before. “Don’t get too mad. She’s a fan of JJ. Couldn’t help herself, you know?” 

Seung Gil doesn’t return the smile. 

“Aww, don’t make such a scary face!” JJ chuckles and nudges Seung Gil's shoulder again. “That ice queen look is too much. C’mon, try something else. A little smile?” He taps a finger against his chin in reference to his own. His teeth are unnaturally perfect. 

“No.” Seung Gil was right. This guy talks too much. He turns back to watch the preparation of his beverage. 

“I’m asking so nicely though. C’mon, Seung, don’t be such a—”

“Don’t call me that,” Seung Gil cuts him off, glaring from the side with narrowed eyes. Rather than the insulted reaction that he's used to, JJ’s response is to grin even wider. Seung Gil wonders if he’d unknowingly engaged a pervert. 

“Not one for nicknames, huh?" JJ takes on a light, sing-song voice. “That’s no fun, Elsa. You’ve gotta loosen up. Let it go!” 

“Go where?” Seung Gil says. His flat tone efficiently deflates the playful mood of the conversation.

JJ goes silent next to him. Seung Gil has a brief moment of peace before his harasser erupts into a peal of laughter. Several other cafe patrons turn heads to look at them. JJ continues snickering, leaning his full weight into Seung Gil's shoulder. He keeps starting and aborting words in the midst of his hysterics, and Seung Gil’s disdain grows thicker by the second. 

“You mean you haven’t…oh wow… _wooooow_ …” JJ raises a hand to wipe a tear from his eye. He looks down at his fellow skater with mirth and renewed interest. Seung Gil takes a step to the right to put space between them. “Oh. No no no, snowflake, I wasn’t trying to be mean—”

“Your drinks!” The barista returns, setting two lidded cups down on the drop-off counter and sliding them to the athletes. She glances between them with a flustered expression. “I apologize again!” 

Seung Gil swipes up a cup with a nod and turns to flee. JJ starts as if to give chase, but something distracts him, giving Seung Gil enough time to speed walk across the lobby and around a corner towards a set of elevators. A maneuver that he regrets upon seeing the flock of reporters lying in wait. 

“Seung Gil Lee!” shouts a journalist. His peers swivel their heads to pin Seung Gil with their gazes, killing any chance of feigning ignorance. Eager faces swarm to surround their Korean target, armed with recorders and notepads. 

“This is your first season in the Grand Prix, and now you’re at the Rostelecom Cup. What are your thoughts about your competitors?” 

“Congratulations on medaling in your first event, by the way!” 

“Yes, your performance was stunning!” 

“Are you disappointed that you are one season too late to compete against Viktor Nikiforov?” 

Seung Gil stares at at the line of elevators just beyond the crowd of journalists. He is so close. Does he even have the energy to deal with this right now? He takes a sip from his cup to buy himself time, and stills at the bitter taste that hits his tongue. 

This isn’t his drink. 

Faced with the expectant eyes of the press, Seung Gil forces himself to swallow while maintaining a neutral expression. The taste of acidic, black coffee burns down his throat. 

Disgusting. 

He thinks back to the cafe counter. The barista had made two beverages. He’d taken the wrong one. Which means his vanilla-caramel soy milk latte is in the hands of that **_disaster_**. 

Seung Gil takes a deep, steadying breath. The reporters are still here, he reminds himself. He can't just ignore them. His coach would have words with him if he blows them off.  Mustering his remaining patience, Seung Gil carefully chooses his words as the questions just keep coming.

“I am not on familiar terms with the skaters here. Thank you for the compliments. Nikiforov is not a concern. I am here to compete, not to watch him perform.” He feels stupid holding the coffee cup like a prop.

“Your placement in last season's Worlds makes you a highly anticipated skater. Do you feel pressured?”

“I take the expectations as encouragement.”

“What is the inspiration behind your new masculine style?” 

“I studied styles of dance over the summer to enhance my skating.”

“A mambo and pavane are so strikingly different. What made you choose them for your programs?”

“I chose them specifically for their differences.”

“You are quite popular amongst women, yet there are no rumors of any relationship past or current. Do you have an interest in anyone?”

“I concentrate time to my sport.”

“So is there—?”

“No.” He can't take any more of this. “Excuse me. I am tired and unable to answer further questions. Please ask me tomorrow, thank you.” Seung Gil rounds the crowd, using his duffel bag as a barrier to carve an escape route. It's not the most polite way to end the interview, but the reporters back off, spotting a new target rounding the same corner behind him. Seung Gil doesn’t chance a glance back, not wanting to jinx his first spark of good luck this day. He mentally thanks whoever is behind him for their sacrifice. 

He chucks the full cup of coffee into the first waste bin he sees before entering the elevator hallway.

No way is he drinking that sludge. 

Now weary and deprived of caffeine, he just wants to sleep. The small panel above one set of elevator doors is lit up, numbers flickering in descending order. There's a chime as the doors slide open, and Seung Gil’s ears are assaulted by an unwelcome cacophony of voices. Michele Crispino is passionately hollering in the face of Emil Nekola, much to the scolding protests of his sister, Sara, who is pressed between the men. The Czech skater just laughs helpless and nervous apologies that do little to calm the furious brother.

Seung Gil stares at the drama unraveling before him. The beginnings of a headache stir in his skull.

He didn't ask for this. 

Sara Crispino is the first of the three to realize that they are not alone. Her face smoothes into a smile and she takes an amiable step forward. 

“Hi, Yuuri,” she greets. Her voice is warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to her previous reprimanding tone. Seung Gil realizes that she is addressing someone standing beside him. It's Katsuki Yuuri, the skater from Japan. Seung Gil hadn't even noticed the other's quiet presence, too focused on his own problems. He doesn’t have long to be bothered by his poor sense of awareness before Sara Crispino’s smiling attention is turned to him.  

“Hi, Seung Gil. Do you want to come with—”

“No.” Seung Gil steps past her, prepared to board the elevator. The two young men still standing inside aren't making room for him though. They are gawking at him. 

“Hey!” Sara steps close into his space, the reprimanding tone returning. Her expression twists in a show of her affronted feelings. “If you’re turning a lady down, can’t you be more considerate?” Seung Gil’s grip on his bag tightens. He hates it when women use their gender like that. Why is he supposed to go out of his way for someone based on their reproductive organs? They aren’t handicapped. It makes no sense at all. 

“Do I get any benefit out of being friendly with you?” he asks coldly. The Crispino twins gape at him with identical expressions before simultaneously exploding with noise. Seung Gil can’t tell their overlapping words apart. The headache thrums into a steady throb. “Could you step aside?” 

"Ehh?" booms an infuriated Michele. He shows no intention of doing so. The angry Italian takes two steps forward, fully prepared to defend his sister's honor, before being yanked back by Emil's arms hooked through his own.

“Come now!”  Emil laughs, his good nature shining through. He uses his hold on Michele to pull him away and around Seung Gil, giving the Korean a wide berth. “He's still carrying a bag, he probably just got here!” He offers a sorry smile. “We'll get out of your way. See you at the competition.” Despite his gentle disposition, there's a competitive glint in his blue eyes. It's spirit that Seung Gil would have appreciated in a better state of mind. Instead, he enters the elevator platform without another word. Sara steps back with a dissatisfied frown.

“You'll come eat with us another time!” The words are declared with heartfelt promise. She turns on her foot to catch up with her two companions.

As the doors close, Seung Gil notices that the Japanese skater is missing. He must have taken another elevator in the commotion. Whatever the case, it leaves Seung Gil as the sole passenger to the seventh floor. His shoulders relax in relief. His luggage should already be in his room. He shouldn't sleep, it would throw off his sleep schedule, but he was in dire need of a nap. A couple hours shouldn't do any harm. There's a familiar flip-flop in his stomach as the platform slows to stop. The doors chime open and Seung Gil checks the numbered plaques on the wall to discern which direction leads to his room.

The east wing, was it? He walks through the carpetted corridors, reading the numbered plaques as he turns. Left, left, right. His room should be in the middle somewhere. He swipes the key card he'd received at the reception desk. The tiny light on the door lock flashes green as the door lock buzzes and clicks unlocked. He feels a small sense of victory. Seung Gil turns the handle and pushes the door open with a shoulder. He ignores the sound of another door opening in the hallway. That is, until—

“Elsa!” 

Seung Gil halts mid-step into his room. The door handle is still turned in his grasp when he looks over his shoulder. 

JJ is leaning against the door directly across from his own. He’s had a change of clothes. Tan hands are lazily hooked into a pair of dark jeans, one long leg crossed over the over. A quilted leather jacket hugs his broad shoulders, left open to show off a stone-gray knit shirt that fits snug to his torso. He's wearing a silver belt buckle shaped like his first two initials and that unnaturally perfect smile of his. A hand raises to flip up his violet-tinted sunglasses, revealing gleeful, dark blue eyes. JJ throws a saucy wink. 

“Looks like we’re neighbors!” 

Seung Gil slams his door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that the anime left a lot of room for Seung Gil’s potential development. It probably won’t go into depth with him for now since the main protagonist and title namesake is Katsuki Yuuri. So this here is my attempt at it while having some fun.  
> The first chapter is shorter than I'd like, but it's a start for now. ╮(￣ω￣;)╭
> 
> Comments and kudos are welcome and appreciated!  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Backpfeifengesicht _[German] - (n.) a face that is begging to be punched__

Moscow is very beautiful in snow, though Seung Gil had expected as much from the capital city. He peers through the restaurant window. It’s like looking into a snow globe. The fine white softens the urban edges of the street, and the building across the way stands in regal contrast against the sky, sienna red obscuring pale blue. Its tall hipped roofs make it look like a fairy tale manor. Seung Gil knows the reality isn’t something so fanciful, but it’s nonetheless an impressive sight.

He takes a bite of the hibiscus jelly, making sure there’s a proportionate dollop of raspberry mousse in the spoon. The textures mix well together, and the flavor is a perfect balance of sweet and tart. Seung Gil lets the taste linger on his tongue before pulling the spoon from his lips. He feels good today. He’d gotten a full eight hours of sleep last night, and now with a full stomach, his body isn’t lacking in anything. Seung Gil thinks back to the morning’s official practice as he takes another mouthful.

His steps and spins were stronger than ever, though his jump landings were lacking. They’ve been weak for a while now, actually. Both he and his coach had noticed, but could find no flaw in his technique. His doctor had assured him that nothing was amiss either. It’s frustrating to discern no cause for it. Seung Gil hates to call it luck, since luck can’t be fixed. He pauses and chases away that line of thinking with another bite of the jelly. He should just focus on tomorrow. The competition rink has a strange feel to it. The air is colder than in any other he’d skated in, and even while empty, the atmosphere had sent a shiver up his spine. Skating rinks are different in countries where the ice is in their blood. Perhaps he should have spent time training in Russia or Canada during his junior years.

Unbidden, a certain Canadian comes to mind.

Seung Gil frowns around his spoon. A person who refers to himself in third person is bound to be a nuisance. He doesn’t pay much attention to the other skaters, but even Seung Gil had noticed the withdrawn attitude towards JJ during practice. All except from Katsuki Yuuri, that is. However, instead of engaging the polite Japanese man, JJ seemed fonder harassing skaters who don’t humor his antics. Yuri Plisetsky’s apoplectic reactions could be heard across the whole rink. If that’s the case, Seung Gil is certain that it’s only a matter of time before he himself is taunted again. How troublesome.

Seung Gil’s phone rings from his pocket. Jarred out of his thoughts, he pulls it out to find a new text. 

> **누나:** 승길아~ 화이팅!!! ^ㅁ^

Seung Gil huffs in amusement. Seung Mi never fails to send him a text the day before competition. He’s gotten used to it by now, but the absence of his sister is still felt. It’s been over a year since he last saw her. He wonders how she’s faring with her tour in Europe. He considers texting back, but decides to put it off until the Rostelecom Cup passes. She’d understand. He returns to his dessert in a much better mood.

The sky is overcast by the time Seung Gil pays for his meal, and he decides to head back to the hotel. There’s little point in wandering a foreign country in inclement weather. He zips up his coat and slides on his gloves on his way to the door. The wind whips around him as he leaves the restaurant. Seung Gil shudders and adjusts his coat collar. He should have brought a scarf. He shuffles to the edge of the sidewalk. It only takes him six minutes to hail a cab, but his nose and face are red from cold. He spends the ride rubbing the numbness away from his cheeks. By the time they reach Aerostar Hotel, there’s a line of cabs stalling at the entrance. He isn’t the only guest who was deterred by the weather. Seung Gil cranes his neck to count the cabs in front of his. He might as well walk the distance to the lobby. It’s only a short bit away. He assures the driver that he’s fine with this much and steps out. The cold isn’t as bad here, thanks to the hotel blocking the brunt of the wind. He shuffles forward, kicking up fresh snow. Other passengers seem to get the same idea and are exiting their vehicles as well. Seung Gil is only a couple meters away from the lobby entrance when Sara Crispino stumbles out of a cab and into his path.

The long-haired brunette is bundled up in winter wear and fiddling with her phone. Numerous shopping bags hang from her elbows and a pair of pink headphones sit on her head. She fails to fully prop open the cab door in her hurry, and it falls shut under its own weight, catching the cord of her headphones with its edge.

A look of abject horror and betrayal crosses Sara’s eyes. She reaches out an arm, but too late. The headphones go flying off her head, tumble over the wet ground—

 _—bon sungan…nan…hollin deusi kkeullyeoga._  
_Narang jamkkan yaegi jom hae!_  
_Wae iri gami eopsna, eodiseo—_

—and take the audio jack with them, almost ripping Sara’s cell phone out of her hand as well. The driver, having heard the clatter, asks if she is alright. Flustered, Sara shouts reassurances over her shoulder while crouching to rescue her fallen headset. It’s while brushing off the snow and checking for damage that Sara sees the Korean figure skater.

“Hi, Seung Gil. You saw that?” she says with a sheepish smile. Seung Gil glances down at the headphones cradled in her hands. He hadn’t misheard it, that had been—

“K-pop?”

Sara’s smile fades and she stares up at him, stunned.

Ah.

He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Seung Gil makes to walk around her, but Sara jumps up, nearly head-butting him in her excitement.

“It’s Pentagon’s new single!” she gushes, following his steps with enthusiasm. “I’ve been following them since their debut. They don’t have the stage confidence of older groups, but I think they show a lot of promise.” Sara tucks her headphones under one arm and whips out her phone. There’s a happy gleam in her eyes as her fingers fly over the screen. “They’re such goofs, but when they get serious—!” The phone is thrusted under Seung Gil’s nose as they pass through the first pair of sliding doors into lobby. “Just look at them, oh my god!” Overwhelmed, he does as she says.

A video plays, showing young men dressed in an odd fusion of street and formal clothes. They twist their bodies in sync to music, the same song Seung Gil had briefly heard through Sara’s headphones. Sporadic face close-ups keep interrupting the performance though, and the constant camera changes make it impossible to distinguish the transitions in dance movement. Seung Gil furrows his brow. He can’t keep track of the group members through all their outfit changes, but there are definitely more than five of them. Why are they named after a five-sided polygon? And what are they saying? He catches mention of a “lady”. Is this supposed to be a love song? Seung Gil is so perplexed that he doesn’t notice that they’ve come to a mutual stop near the front desk until halfway through the video.

“To be honest,” Sara giggles, briefly touching fingers to her head. “I think you’re a lot like them. You have that cool aura. Your face is so pretty and you get that look in your eyes. Um.” Sara’s words trickle to a stop as she notices the complete stillness of Seung Gil’s expression. She raises a hand, palm out, pleading her sincerity. “I mean that in the best of ways!”

Seung Gil doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say in reply to that, so he says nothing at all. Sara’s enthusiasm falters. She studies Seung Gil for a moment and then narrows her eyes.

“Hey.” It’s her reprimanding tone again. “A woman is allowed to worship a boy band or four in her lifetime. I don’t fetishize your culture, I just really like the music. Don’t judge me for that.”

Seung Gil is perplexed on where this is coming from.

“I didn’t say anything to you,” he points out.

“It’s all over your face!” insists Sara.

“This is my face.” He doesn’t understand her change in attitude. The turn in conversation is starting to irritate him. “Your hobbies serve no importance to me. There’s no reason for me to have a say against them.”

“You…” Sara raises a hand, fingers splayed up angrily. She looks ready to serve a brutal scolding, when the meaning of his words register. Her face goes through a series of inscrutable expressions. “…Seung Gil, do you talk like this naturally?”

“I talk the way I always do,” Seung Gil replies.

“… _Oddito_ , you’re right.” Sara stares at him, dumbstruck. Seung Gil isn’t sharing her epiphany. “This explains so much. You’re not rude, you’re just simple!”

“Excuse me?” Seung Gil feels insulted.

“You always talk like this.” Sara bumps her forehead with her palm. “You’re just terrible at conversations. Ah, but that’s okay!” She makes a dismissive hand gesture. “Everyone is terrible at something. I’m an Italian woman, but my brother is a better cook than I am.”

“What does one have to do with the other?”

“Well.” Sara’s voice remains light-hearted, but takes a slight depreciative tone. “It’s embarrassing to get shown up at something so expected, you know?”

“I don’t,” Seung Gil disagrees. “Skills are based solely on aptitude and proficiency. Your expectation is unreasonable.”

Sara gives him a long look. Her eyes sparkle as her smile lengthens. “Seung Gil, let’s be friends!” she declares. It’s Seung Gil’s turn to feel dumbstruck. Sara continues on. “I think you’re a cool and honest person. You don’t try to impress anyone. It’s refreshing.”

“I’m not a k-pop fan,” he feels obliged to say.

“That’s fine,” Sara reassures with cheer. “I want to get to know you better. That’s how friendship works.” Seung Gil opens his mouth to speak when a familiar voice echoes down the lobby.

“Sara!” The two of them look to see Michele Crispino getting up from the sitting area at the opposite end of the hall. He looks agitated and sweeps out his arms. “ _Stai bene?_ ”

“ _Sono stanco, ma a parte ciò sto bene,_ ” Sara calls back. She leaves Seung Gil, throwing him a wave over her shoulder. “See you! We’ll grab food later, okay?” Michele continues to scowl until Sara is within arm’s reach. The siblings hug and start an animated talk about their day. Without anything better to do, Seung Gil heads for the elevators.

It takes a while for an available platform to arrive and then reach his floor, so Seung Gil takes the time to consider his next plan of action. With the weather outside the way it is, he should change and go to the gym. Seung Gil could never sit still and read a book before a competition, so staying active is the best way to keep his nerves low. The fitness facility in this hotel has decent reviews online. Perhaps he could use a treadmill. Afterwards, he could take a shower and make dinner plans. Satisfied with this idea, Seung Gil heads to his room. He makes a quick change into a set of black, sweat-wicking clothes, sneakers, and a navy sweatshirt. After checking that his wallet, cell phone, and wireless earbuds are tucked into his pocket, he jogs back to the elevators. It’s while he waits for an arriving platform that his encounter with Sara returns to mind.

Seung Gil has never had a friendship proposal before. There’s an odd lightness in his chest that doesn’t feel bad, but he should properly refuse Sara later. He is aware that his expressions are vague, but is unwilling to exaggerate for the sake of others. He’d feel like a fraud. Besides, the consequences of pretending would be ugly. People are complicated and unpredictable. Sara may mean well, but they have no shared interests besides skating, and he can’t see how their opposing personalities would get along. He’s stirred out of his thoughts when a set of doors chime open.

“—ust me, you can go much deeper if you try, Yuuri.”

“Vi-Viktor!”

Seung Gil blinks.

Viktor Nikiforov has his student crowded against the left wall of the elevator. His nose is brushing Katsuki Yuuri’s as he uses one hand to hold other’s wrists above their heads. Yuuri is standing on one leg while the other is folded up and over the Russian’s shoulder, toe pointing to the ceiling in a near split. His shirt is untucked, revealing a strip of pale stomach, and his glasses are askew.

The two Asians meet eyes and there is a long, dense silence.

“Lee Seung Gil! This is—!” Yuuri’s face burns red to the point of appearing neon. “U-um, it’s no—t…th-th-th-this isn’t… S-s-sp-spin-ns! It i-i-i-isn’t…”

“Going down?” Viktor asks, the perfect pleasantry of a gentleman. Seung Gil glances at the hand resting on Yuuri’s hipbone. As he looks, the fingers curl, dipping into the waistband up to the second knuckles.

“I will wait for the next one,” he declares.

“There’s enough space for you to join us.”

“I decline the invitation,” Seung Gil refuses politely.

“Hm. Well, okay,” Viktor hums.

The doors slide close on Yuuri’s nonsensical stutters and Seung Gil waits a beat before pressing the request button again.

…Well.

After the internationally televised kiss, he supposes he should have expected that. Not quite in the position he just witnessed, but of course the two would have coupled. The interview questions Yuuri receives regarding that must be a nightmare. Seung Gil gets so many inquiries about his nonexistent love life as it is. Perhaps he should be blunt and say that he’s never felt that way for anyone and doubts he ever will. Immediately, a phantom of his coach appears in mind, scolding him for terrible PR. The image elicits a huff. There’s a chime at the far of the hallway and the doors furthest left to him open. Seung Gil walks inside and checks the floor map for the gym level. The doors begin to close as he selects the correct button.

“Coming through!”

An arm and shoulder slam into the platform, interrupting the closing doors. The doors halt and reopen, revealing Seung Gil’s regrettable neighbor. JJ’s wearing a whole different outfit from the day before. Instead of denim and leather, he’s dressed in black slacks and a dark olive bomber jacket. The plastic-framed sunglasses are switched out for a pair of aviators, and Seung Gil isn’t surprised that he brought more than one pair. A crown pendant sways from JJ’s neck as he ducks into the elevator and presses for the lobby floor. JJ grins at Seung Gil with the full force of his ego. “Hey! Look who it is!”

Seung Gil jams the closing doors button with his thumb.

“Aw, c’mon. Talk to me!” JJ pouts and presses backward against the opposite wall. He crosses his arms behind his head. “The cold shoulder is too rude. You gotta _feel_ , Elsa. Not _conceal_.”

“That’s not my name,” Seung Gil corrects.

“Right, right,” JJ snickers. He raises his laced hands in a languid stretch. “I’m on my way to greet my lovely fans. They’ve gathered all the way here to cheer on the King.” He laughs and thuds a fist to his chest. It’s an arrogant gesture. “JJ Girls just can’t get enough.”

Seung Gil occupies himself with reading the floor map and categorizing the grammatical errors in English.

“Ah, that reminds me! Your fans—not as wonderful as mine—keep calling you ‘oppa’ on Twitter. Were you in the Gangnam Style MV or something?”

He can’t be serious.

Seung Gil casts JJ a critical look, but is only met with a clueless smile.

“…No.” Seung Gil pauses. “It’s an honorific.” He leaves it at that and returns to fascinating over the hotel’s poor English transcriptions.

“Damn, and I was hoping to meet Psy through you. The guy seems amazing. Would like to make a collaboration with him.”

The idea of such a song coming into existence almost puts fear in Seung Gil’s heart.

“Ooh, they also call you _Snow Prince_.” The Korean stiffens at the familiar title and turns to see JJ scrolling through his phone with a smirk. “That’s cute. Matches your fluffy hair.”

“What are yo—”

" _Oppa’s frosty attitude and quiet grace make me want to protect him!_ ” JJ pitches his voice into a high falsetto that grates Seung Gil’s ears. “ _The Snow Prince is so precious, ilu grumpy baby_. Pfft— _Hair black as night, skin pale as snow_ …” JJ meets Seung Gil’s eyes with glee. “You’re an actual fairy tale princess, Elsa.”

“Stop reading that.”

“Nah, I’m having way too much fu—” The overhead lights shut off as the platform comes to an abrupt stop. The two athletes stare at each other as they comprehend the situation. JJ breaks the silence with a low whistle, followed by a weak laugh. “What luck we have, eh?”

Instead of replying, Seung Gil digs into his pocket for his own phone. He unlocks the screen and scrolls through his contacts. JJ watches with curiosity.

“What’cha doing?” he asks.

“I’m calling hotel management,” Seung Gil continues searching for the number he’d saved upon booking his stay.

“Wow. Quick thinking, snowflake!” Seung Gil only gets the shuffle of a footstep as warning before an arm claps around his shoulders. He grunts and braces his feet at the unexpected weight. “Knew I was stuck with the right guy!”

The weight doesn’t budge. JJ is stuck to Seung Gil’s side, draping over the shorter athlete to peer at the phone in the other’s hand.

“I didn’t invite yo—”

“Damn, looks like there’s no signal in here,” JJ laments. He points a finger at the top right-side corner of the cell phone screen where no network bars are shown. Seung Gil furrows his brow and taps the number for Aerostar Hotel Management anyway. An automative voice answers, announcing the call failed to connect.

Damn it.

Seung Gil sighs and shifts his grip to lock the screen. He’s surprised when a hand intercepts him.

“Hey, don’t shut it off. It’s dark,” JJ protests.

“My battery is low,” Seung Gil points out.

“So? You can recharge it at one of the phone stations.”

“Couldn’t you use your own phone?” JJ had shown no qualms about using it earlier.

“Nah, my phone’s about to die.”

Seung Gil turns his head to point out how hypocritical that is, but is taken aback at the intense scrutiny he meets. The artificial light from the phone’s screen brightens the blue in JJ’s eyes while casting pale shadows across his jaw and nose. It’s like being pinned under the gaze of a wolf.

“I didn’t notice before, but you have really nice skin.” JJ looms in even closer. “What toner do you use?”

“What?” Seung Gil says.

“What do you use on your face?” JJ clarifies. His eyes roam over the planes of Seung Gil’s face.

“…Lotion.” Seung Gil has no idea where this is going.

“You seriously telling me that you don’t use anything else?” JJ accuses. His arm hooks around Seung Gil’s neck. It’s an uncomfortable position and Seung Gil lifts his chin to avoid getting smothered by JJ’s sleeve. “I can barely see your pores!”

Seung Gil presses his lips tightly together. If he feels spittle splatter on him, he’s going to make the lout swallow those stupid sunglasses.

“I know so many women who’d kill for skin like yours, no lie,” JJ goes on. He arches an eyebrow. “You have a good face too. Man, if you just dressed the right way, you’d get a whole lot of attention, ice queen or no.”

“That is unnecessary.” Seung Gil’s opposition earns him an offended look.

“Seung Gil. Your blacks _don’t match_.”

His what? Seung Gil goes through his mental list of western slang, but comes out empty.

“Listen carefully to what I say. You’re a complete mess. It’s like you don’t know you’re a winter. Darks and neutrals are fine, but try some jewel tones and cold pastels, will you? I keep seeing you in warm primaries and _ugh_ , it just makes me want to rip your clothes off.”

The majority of that goes over Seung Gil’s head, but there is no mistaking the last bit. He jerks under JJ’s arm, intent on getting far away.

“Woah, hey! What’s—”

A loud bang reverberates through the elevator and the platform shudders under their feet.

“ _Fuck_ –!” JJ swears with feeling. His arm jolts, yanking Seung Gil’s head forward. Even with a cell phone, the elevator is dark. Seung Gil doesn’t see the placement of JJ’s feet and stumbles over them in his panic. He thrusts an arm out in instinct, pushing JJ off balance. The Canadian yelps and clings to his captive for stability. The combined clumsiness is too much, and the two figure skaters pitch into a graceless fall. The elevator lights flash on just in time for everything in Seung Gil’s vision to go sideways as his cheek slams against a sharp collarbone.

“ **Attention, guests** ,” blares the elevator speaker. “ **There was a brief power outage in the east wing due to the ongoing storm. We apologize for any inconvenience, and can be contacted at our front desk for any concerns caused by this disruption. Thank you.** ”

Seung Gil groans in pain. He blinks against the bright light and tries to get his bearings. There’s something lying across his back and that doesn’t feel like the carpeted floor underneath him. He shifts his knees and freezes when he knocks into another pair of legs. His eyes swim into focus. A tiny crown glints centimeters from his nose, resting on a tan expanse of skin. Seung Gil can feel vibrations as JJ laughs, and realizes that his forehead is pressed against a warm neck.

“Don’t worry about it, snowflake.” The weight on his back gives Seung Gil heavy pats. “Many have fallen for me before.”

 _This_ **_infuriating_ _bastard_**.

“Let. _Go!_ ” Seung Gil snarls. He elbows off the arm on his back and shoves against JJ’s chest to sit up. He starts getting to his feet, but stops when instead of dropping off and away, JJ’s hand falls down to his backside. He stares at JJ with wide, bewildered eyes when something gropes him through his thin athletic pants. JJ looks just as bewildered and even afraid.

“Fuck, no wait. I have a gir—”

Seung Gil punches him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Seung Gil saw the State Historical Museum from a table in the Grand Cafe Dr. Zhivago in Moscow. [[x]](https://static37.cmtt.ru/club/01/31/ae/a41662277d77b0.jpg)   
>  • [Translation from Korean] 누나: 승길아~ 화이팅!!! ⥤ Big Sister: Hey Seung Gil~ Good luck!!!   
>  • The Aerostar Hotel in Moscow, shown as "Star Hotel" in Episode 8. [[x]](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7f/Aerostar_hotel_12-10-2014.jpg)   
>  • Sara showed Seung Gil the “Can You Feel It” MV by PENTAGON. [[x]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_Dz-hOiZUE)   
>  • [Translation from Italian] Oddio ⥤ Oh God   
>  • [Translation from Italian] Stai bene? ⥤ Are you okay?   
>  • [Translation from Italian] Sono stanco, ma a parte ciò sto bene. ⥤ I'm tired, but otherwise I'm fine.   
>  • Oppa [Korean] - (n.) older brother; an honorific used by females towards males, both blood-related and non-related, to express endearment and respect; could also be applied in a flirtatious manner
> 
> Seung Gil's inattentive and avoidant attitude doesn't strike me as a quality of an older sibling, so I made him the younger one instead. It may be strange for him to easily accept Viktor and Yuuri's relationship, considering South Korea's poor reception of non-heteronormativity, but I’m going with the _Yuri!!! on Ice_ law of the story being set in a world where such issues are not a problem. Big, queer romances are all good! (╯✧▽✧)╯ 
> 
> Your comments and kudos fill me with life and determination. Thank you for your support!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lítost_ [Czech] - (n.) a state of torment caused by insight into one’s own miserable self

Breathe. 

Seung Gil shifts his knees, alternating the stretch to his hamstrings. The corridor is filled with staff members and the occasional cameraman, but that doesn’t matter. His focus centers on everything under his skin. He lowers his forearms to the floor to deepen the burn in his calves. 

Breathe. 

He pushes up with his fingers, lengthening his spine, and drops his left hand behind the opposite ankle. Twisting his torso, he raises his right arm over and up, opening the shoulder as far as it can go. He feels the ache along his legs and back, and extends farther. 

Bre—

“Seung Gil.”

His coach’s unmistakable voice jars him from his daze. Seung Gil rises from his position and looks up to see her standing in front of him, arms crossed and waiting. As usual, her face is stern. 

“Group 1 starts warm-up soon. Let’s go,” she says in Korean, and turns away. Her action may come off as cold to others, but Park Min So has coached nearly every professional figure skater in her country. She knows the distant look in her student’s eyes. He’s not in the mood for conversation. 

Seung Gil follows her lead, taking check of his muscle response and balance as he walks. The excitement in the arena is palpable. It vibrates through the ground and shakes the air. Seung Gil focuses on his heartbeat, measuring the time between each pulse. Emil Nekola and Michele Crispino, two of the others in Group 1, are readying by the rink. He ignores them and finds a spot to remove his sneakers and tighten his skates. It’s a familiar routine, one he’s done nearly every day for the past near decade. 

The gate opens and the skaters file out onto the rink. The atmosphere, which was abuzz before, intensifies. Seung Gil can almost feel it hovering overhead like a swarm. He practices several single jumps as he makes his rounds. The cold feels sharp against his face. When the warm-up ends, Seung Gil skates to the edge of the rink to meet his coach. He unzips and hands her his jacket. She takes it and gives him a once over. 

“You’re first, so set a good standard.”

Seung Gil smooths the pleats on his waistband. The satin fabric shimmers under his fingers like ice. His music is 2 minutes and 42 seconds. The choreographed order of the seven elements are quad loop, layover camel spin, spin combination, triple Axel, flying sit spin, triple Lutz-triple toe, and finally step sequence. The jump base values are 12.0, 8.5, and 10.3. Applying the second half 1.1 multiplier, they become 12.0, 9.35, and 11.33, totaling to 32.68. The combination spin is camel, catch-foot to pancake sit, corkscrew, switch foot—

“Seung Gil, are you listening to me? Everything you do is for Pyeongchang. What you should be focused on right now is—” 

He turns around.

“Seung Gil!”

He usually listens to her advice and even accepts a hand clasp as encouragement, but the air is cold. The pressure of his second Grand Prix event is looming. He needs to move, or he may not be able to move at all. Seung Gil glides around the rink, coming to a rest in the center. He braces a hand against his hip and waits for the first blare of trumpets from his program. 

He waits.

 

And waits.

 

 

And  _breathes_. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The music ends.

 

Seung Gil raises his arms and waves, putting little thought into the gesture. His body is tired, but his mind is a whirl. Predicting the points from the technical panel is feasible, but the judges are a whole other matter. Their reception of his performance is an uncertain variable. He’d flubbed the landing for the triple Axel, but his other jumps had been perfect and should receive decent GOE. His steps should garner more points than they had at the NHK Trophy, but would the judges find lack in the artistry?

The speculations continue to spin, even as he tucks a plush toy under his arm on the way to the kiss and cry. His coach is there, giving him a look that means there will be words later. For now, she holds out an arm, palm open and waiting. Seung Gil clasps the hand he’d been too impatient for before. 

“Well done,” she says. She drapes his jacket around his shoulders as he fits skate guards over his blades. “There were no flaws with your footwork. The transitions could have been smoother, but at the rate you are improving, I’m sure it won’t be a concern for much longer. Keep it up.” Seung Gil drinks from his water bottle and nods. He changes into his sneakers, and they sit together to await the score. 

**91.83**

It’s his new personal best. Seung Gil stares intently at the score. His coach sends him an amused look over her shoulder. She can tell he’s pleased. Seung Gil rises first from his seat, waving an arm in practiced habit to the audience as he leaves. His coach joins him and they head for the back hallway where a small news team waits. It may be the part he dislikes most, but the sooner the post-performance interview is done, the better. Thankfully, the first question asked isn’t meant for him. 

“Min So Park,” begins the reporter. “What do you have to say about your student’s performance today?”

“He’s worked hard,” his coach replies into the microphone. “I suspect that he will continue to improve in the future.” 

“Though he was recovering from an ear injury, he’d surprised everyone with the first ratified quad loop in competition last season. That’s commendable, but wouldn’t you also consider it dangerous?” 

“I’d firmly restricted Seung Gil from practicing high level techniques during his early recovery,” she replies. Her voice is edged with indignity. “He used the circumstance to train through supplementary classes and challenge himself in new ways. The quad loop is a product of practice and is unrelated to the timing of his injury.” 

“Figure skaters often erode their bodies to poor healt—”

“I respect my coach,” Seung Gil cuts in. He is annoyed by the reporter’s persistence. “I owe her my gratitude for prioritizing my physical health. She has mentored many athletes and I trust her wisdom.” Upon hearing him speak, the reporter switches attention. 

“Seung Gil Lee, where did the concept for your skating theme come from? You’d announced that it is ‘greed’ in a past conference, but not much beyond that.”

“I wanted a theme that suits my mentality this season. That’s all.” 

“Could you elaborate on that?” insists the reporter. 

“It…” Seung Gil wracks his brain on what else to say. “…Greed has a negative implication, but that is due to its selfish quality. It’s a powerful word. I was drawn to it.” 

“Too  _greedy_ , were you?” chuckles the reporter. His amusement loses strength when neither of the Koreans laugh. He coughs into his hand and continues. “Is this feeling attached to or inspired by anything or anyone in particular?”

What kind of question is that? 

“It’s attached to my skating,” Seung Gil says. 

“I see…” By the look on the reporter’s face, that wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. “Not many of your fans reside in Russia. The crowd was much more subdued than usual. Did you find the foreign circumstance intimidating?” 

“Cheers from the crowd never affect my performance.” 

A loud roar from the arena carries into the hallway and Seung Gil turns his head at the interruption. Did he hear that correctly? He turns back to check the wall-mounted television behind the cameraman. He’s just in time to catch it. The jump isn’t as textbook as his, but there’s no denying it. Emil just landed a quad loop.  

Sensing the complete departure of her student’s interest, Min So answers the remaining questions. The reporter seems disappointed by Seung Gil’s lack of further input, but accept it without complaint. The aloof athlete is infamous for his few words. When the interview is finished, Seung Gil wastes no time heading for the nearest media room. 

Group 2 just finished their warm-up and the widescreen pans to the audience as national pride rouses a chant of Viktor’s name. Though the Russian legend is not participating, there are three other skaters in Group 2 that draw Seung Gil’s notice.

Katsuki Yuuri is a surprise this season. The Japanese figure skater is well known for his steps and musicality, but his weak mental fortitude showed in his inconsistent jumps. It’s hard to believe this is the same Yuuri as last season. A relationship could change a person this much, huh? A triple Axel from spread eagle, quad Salchow, and quad toe-triple toe. Yuuri lands them all, ending with a perfect program. Viktor is ecstatic at the resulting score, going as far as to kiss Yuuri’s skate. It looks downright embarrassing, but Yuuri doesn’t look he minds it. His face looks quite happy. There truly is a large difference from last year. 

Yuri Plisetsky is very talented, and very angry. The 15-year-old prodigy shows no weak points in any of his executed elements. However, even Seung Gil can detect the dissonance between the Russian Fairy’s emotions and the theme of his program. It doesn’t have negative impact to his techniques, but it’s distracting. Triple Axel, quad Salchow-triple toe, and quad toe. Those spins look hellish. Seung Gil predicts that the score will be fall below Yuuri’s, and is proven correct. Still, Yuri is young. If this is his level now, he’s going to be a monster in his prime. 

Seung Gil is prepared for the spectacle that JJ’s program would undoubtably be, but the fans are a shock. He’s never seen the audience sing along to the melody in a skate competition. JJ seems energized by the chorus, acknowledging and encouraging their involvement. This is something more appropriate at a concert. Other audience members also seem dumbfounded. People from the Americas are intense. Quad toe-triple toe, triple axel, and Quad Lutz. The height of his jumps are impressive and excessive. He lands all of them, which puts JJ in the lead just on base value alone. 

This means Seung Gil is fourth overall. It’s favorable placement. The free skate has the potential to drastically change the standings. He doesn’t have the ambitious number of quads that Emil and JJ have planned, but the program is well balanced. He just needs to—

“Don’t run away with your thoughts.” Min So raises a brow when her words startle the boy. Always the same with his head elsewhere. “What you need to focus on is the you right now. If you don’t pay attention to the present, you’ll miss something. Like advice from a coach that you’re paying money to train under.” 

Seung Gil looks away sheepishly. The nurse practitioner of their group steps closer to offer a sympathetic smile and holds out the skater’s backpack. Seung Gil had always attended competitions with his coach and personal trainer, but since his injury, the Korea Skating Union has been sending an NP to join them. The agency-contracted group member usually stays to himself and says little, but developed a quiet affection for his patient over the months. Seung Gil takes the bag with a nod of thanks. 

“Pairs' short program starts in an hour,” his coach informs, “Attend to what you need, then call me. You achieved a new personal best, so dinner is my treat. Choose what you like and I’ll get it delivered here.”

Seung Gil shoulders his backpack and looks at his coach. “…Dessert?” 

“Don’t push it,” his coach scolds. Seung Gil inclines his head and she huffs in amusement. 

Seung Gil exits the media room on his own. An hour to himself. He’d like to shower and change out of his costume, but the dressing room would be packed with the pairs skaters getting dressed and ready. He’ll go in during the later half of the hour, when most competitors go through their physical prep exercises. He is considering what to do in the meanwhile when a familiar ringtone begins to chime. Seung Gil reaches for his phone and checks the caller ID. His footsteps slow when he realizes who it is. He looks around at his current surroundings and spots a bathroom just a few paces away. He ducks inside and presses a thumb over the Accept icon to receive the call. 

“Mom,” he greets in Korean. “I didn’t think you’d still be up this late.” 

“What happened during your second jump?” Her voice is thick with concern.

“That…” Seung Gil shifts his feet so that he isn’t in the way of a man exiting the bathroom. “I miscalculated.” 

“But you practiced so much,” she laments, “That was a triple Axel, right? It’s one of the standard elements. The Japanese boy and the one from Canada didn’t missed theirs. Is this a new problem?”

“I’ve been trying to fix it.”

“Have you fixed it?”

Awkward silence stretches between the two of them. Seung Gil hears a static-filled sigh.

“I’m just worried, you know I support you. You’ve worked hard to make it here. Your dad saw your performance before he went to bed. Don’t forget what you agreed.”

“Mm.” It’s impossible for Seung Gil to forget that. 

“You’re going to be 22 years old soon. He wants you to think about your future.” 

“I know,” Seung Gil assures, closing his eyes. They’d compromised on Pyeongchang. He has the ice until Pyeongchang, and then it’s over. The time is a dark red counter in Seung Gil’s mind, clicking backward with every day. It’s impossible for him to forget. 

“Have the interviews gone well?”

“…They’re fine.”

“Seung Gil,” she chides, easily catching the telltale pause. “You should be used to the press by now. Goodness, think about your image. It affects your sponsors.” 

“Mm.”

There’s a deep yawn over the line. “Listen well to your coach. Eat a light breakfast and lunch tomorrow. I’ll be cheering for you here.”

“Thanks. You should go to sleep, Mom.” 

“Mm, you’re right.” She chuckles. “Don’t follow my example and go to bed early, okay? Love you.”

“Okay,” Seung Gil replies. “I love you, too… Good night, Mom.” He drops the phone from his ear and ends the call. 

Coffee. He should get a hot drink while waiting for the dressing room to empty out.  

Seung Gil wanders, keeping an eye out for the backstage lounge, where staff members and athletes have access to a beverage bar. It should be somewhere down Hallway C, or was it E? He tries both and finds it at the end of the latter. There are clusters of people when he gets there, but they’re all occupied with small talk and Seung Gil gets to the espresso machine without bother. He fills a third of his cup with skim milk and adds two sugars. The drink is cooled enough to sip on the go, so Seung Gil quests to Hallway B where the men’s dressing room is located. 

The layout is fairly standard. It opens to a wide, square space with benches along the walls and several mirrored tables. The area leads into a locker room, beyond which are toilets and showers. Seung Gil tosses his finished cup into a bin and drops his backpack on a bench. He unzips his jacket and reaches to set it on a wall-mounted hook. 

“Snowflake, _what the fuck_.”

Seung Gil whirls around, hand rising in instinct to hold his jacket as an ill-planned weapon. 

In the far corner, JJ is sitting on a bench that shares the same wall as the dressing room door. One knee is raised against his chest as his hand works to fit a sneaker onto his foot. Seung Gil hadn’t seen him when entering. 

“ _Shit_ , it’s worse in person,” JJ croaks. There’s a strange expression on the tan athlete’s face. It looks tragic, unbefitting his status as the competition lead. “You look like a sexy piñata. How the hell are you pulling it off?” 

Seung Gil slings on his backpack and makes for the door. He can change at another time. 

“Hey, wait. I want to clear up yesterday’s—” 

“Please don’t speak to me.” Seung Gil doesn’t enunciate it as a request.

“Just hear me out!” JJ stumbles after him into the hallway. The longer legs on the former allow him to overtake Seung Gil’s speed. JJ turns heel and faces his runaway interlocutor. He takes a step forward, which Seung Gil combats by taking a step back. This happens several times—forward, left, right, left, forward, right—“Hey,” the Canadian nuisance realizes with a laugh, “It’s like we’re dancing!”

Seung Gil ceases immediately and glowers. They aren’t alone in the hallway. Hitting the lout in an elevator is one thing, but there are too many witnesses here and Seung Gil doesn’t want attention. The press loves to dramatize relationships within the figure skating sphere. It’s why the romance between Viktor and Yuuri is causing mass delirium. Seung Gil doesn’t want rumors of enmity added to his personal burdens. 

“Okay, woah. Tone it down, your eyebrows are gonna kill me.” JJ raises his hands to show that he means no harm. “Look, just here.” He pulls his phone from his pocket to access an app, then turns the screen to show Seung Gil selfie after selfie of himself with a young woman. She has pale blue eyes, but the dark hair and shape of her facial features suggest Asian ancestry. She is beautiful and seems well aware of it, always smiling from a strategic angle. “This is my girl.”

Seung Gil’s glare intensifies. 

“Hey! I joke, but I’m not a cheat, man!” JJ gesticulates with his phone. “The King respects his queen.”

“Most monarchs kept mistresses on the side,” says Seung Gil. 

JJ gives him a slack-jawed stare. 

“It’s historical fact.”

“Not in my history!” The volume of JJ’s voice is gathering attention. Several staff members cast them curious looks from down the hall. Seung Gil evaluates his situation. It doesn’t look like the other is going to let him leave. He could either cause a scene or comply to hear what JJ has to say. 

“I will listen to you if you lower your voice,” Seung Gil says. JJ looks triumphant at the change in mind. It’s infuriating, but then his face smooths into one expressing apology. The sincerity is startling. Even in a competitive sport full of selfish and vain athletes, JJ’s egotism takes a level that makes others grimace. It’s odd to see him capable of modesty. 

 “Look, I get it, alright?” JJ pushes his hair back with a sweep of his hand. “Tall, dark, and handsome, of course I’m a catch. I’ve got the looks, plus talent and charm. It’s hard to find men like me, but I’m not on the market. Your butt may be round and firm, but there’s no way I’d ever go back on my word and hurt someone who trusts me. I’m sorry, but it’s not happening.”

What. 

“Don’t feel too bad!” JJ rushes, reading something in Seung Gil’s posture. “I meant it before—you have good stuff to work with. You’ve missed this wild Pacific King Salmon, but there’s plenty of fish in the sea. Just pay better attention to what you wear. Something between your usual and this rainbow disaster. It’s working for you, for some unholy reason, but something this severe would just cause confused boners.” 

“In what manner,” Seung Gil says in a careful voice, “have I ever shown interest in you?” 

“Well, the way you straddled me for one,” JJ says, scratching the back of his head. 

“I punched you.” 

“Yeah, that wasn’t fun.” JJ winches and brushes fingers across his jaw at the reminder. “But the hot ’n cold thing you have going on is great.”

Seung Gil should punch him again. 

“I hold negative desire to engage with you in any form of intimacy,” he says, incredulous that he has to go as far as to proclaim it. 

“Huh, seriously?” JJ asks in genuine surprise. “So I worried over our friendship for nothing? Sheesh.” 

“We’re not—”

“JJ! The food is here, what’s keeping you so long?” Nathalie Leroy appears from around the corner ahead of them, lips turned into a frown. She adjusts her glasses and studies the young Asian man standing near her son. “Papa is going to eat all the pelmeni.”  

“Just chatting, Maman! Oh geez, stop him!” JJ rushes away, priorities rearranged at the mention of food. He neglects to bid Seung Gil goodbye in his hurry, but Nathalie sends a nod in recognition before turning away. 

The assault of a conversation ends just as abruptly as it had started. 

Seung Gil sighs and turns back towards the dressing room. He could just leave, but he should take the opportunity to change now or else risk facing a repeat encounter again. He pushes the handle and is rewarded with a yelp as Yuri Plisetsky jumps back from the other side of the door. Caught, the young Russian teen sputters. 

“You talk too fucking loud!” Yuri’s mouth twists into a deep scowl as he backpedals further into the room. He raises his thin shoulders and the towel around his neck slips, jostled by the defensive gesture. “I could hear you all the way from the lockers!” 

Seung Gil sets down and unzips his bag. He takes out his change of clothes and toes off his shoes. 

“I wasn’t hiding! I was avoiding the cheap jackass!”

“I don’t care,” Seung Gil replies. He searches a side compartment for his spare socks. “Claiming denial after being found eavesdropping serves to make your dishonesty more blatant.”

“You—!” Yuri growls and grits his teeth. He rips into his own bag and withdraws spare clothes with violence. “Don’t look down on me. You think I’m a kid, but you’re the dumbass who lost half a season. Getting an infection from tripping in rain, what a joke.”

Seung Gil finds the socks and sets them aside. “I regard altercations as a useless expense of my time. Either seek a different partner or pursue a new hobby.” 

“As if I even want to talk to you!”

“Then don’t talk to me.” Seung Gil drapes his jacket over the bench and unties his waistband. 

“I don’t want your thick feather-brain getting the wrong idea,” Yuri spits. He tugs on a black t-shirt. “I’ve got better things to do than get involved in your shitty drama.” 

“I said I don’t care.” Seung Gil untucks his shirt and wrestles off the stretch fabric. “Your tolerance for the press is worse than mine. The probability of gossip is low enough to laughable.” There’s no biting remark as Seung Gil folds the top to his costume, which hopefully marks the end of that. He pushes the shirt to the bottom of his backpack and works on undoing the fasteners to his trousers. 

“Hey,” Yuri’s voice is quiet. “Did you really punch him?” 

Seung Gil considers how to answer that, and doesn’t feel compelled to lie. 

“Yes,” he replies.

There’s a delighted snigger from across the room. 

Seung Gil finishes packing away his skate outfit in silence. He stores his backpack in a locker, then carries a towel and his spare clothes to the shower. Soaking in hot water and the familiar comfort of sportswear do great to dissolve the tension from his muscles, and the smell of food when he meets up with his coach makes him realize how hungry he’s become in the past hour. 

Seung Gil bites into his shashlik as a Chinese pair team executes a death spiral on screen. The meat is tender and juicy, and it has the faint scent of smoked wood. There are others in the cafeteria, doing the same—watching the competition while eating dinner. Yuri is sitting at the table closest to the television, shouting and making faces at a bemused Mila Babicheva. All seat occupants talk in boisterous tones, and Seung Gil can recognize each as a member of the Russian team. 

Such national camaraderie is unknown to him. Being from an underrepresented country where figure skating is still young, Seung Gil has rarely crossed paths with another Korean at international competitions. It can be lonesome, but if honest with himself, he doesn’t have the excess energy to spare outside his performances. Rather than fumbling through social politics, he’s much more at ease with the three adults in his group. Sometimes he or his coach would explain certain terms to his physical therapist, but they otherwise pass the rest of the short programs in quiet and return to the hotel in agreeable company. 

Once in his room, Seung Gil washes up and readies for bed. He has an early day ahead, and it’s the midpoint of the competition. He takes quick inventory of his things for tomorrow’s morning practice, and plugs his cell phone to charge overnight. The screen lights up as Seung Gil connects the port, and he notices an unread text. He opens the app and reads.     

> **아빠** **:** 집에 오면 할 일이 많다. 정신차리고 잘해라.

Seung Gil stares. It’s rare for his dad to send messages. The words seem to be meant as encouragement. He should send a reply. Seung Gil sits down at the edge of the bed, fingers hovering over the keypad. 

‘ _Thank you_ ’ doesn’t quite work. 

‘ _Ok_ ay’ looks too simple. 

Should he ask what his dad thought of his performance?

He shouldn’t. 

He wonders if his dad means his upcoming final exams. 

He considers asking that.

No. 

In the end, ‘ _I know and I will_ ’ makes the most sense, but he doesn’t like how that looks.

The room is dim, because he’d turned off the main light. The glare from his cell phone is starting to hurt his eyes. Seung Gil types a quick ‘ _Yes_ ’ and flips the phone facedown on the nightstand. He flicks off the table light and lies down to sleep. 

He dreams that night of a black ocean, endless and full of secret monsters. He can hear their whispers as he floats on the surface, can feel their malice and anticipation against his skin. The sky yawns over him, a heavy void. It steals the air out of him and pushes him down, down, _down_. He panics. He screams. His voice is swallowed, just like his air, and his silence fuels the terror. He kicks, but that’s a mistake, because now he’s _under_. Dark water enters his mouth and fills his lungs. It sinks him, makes him fall deeper, and there’s nothing to hold. The ocean is inside and outside his skin, and he is helpless to do anything. 

He can only go down, 

                                   down, 

                                               _down_ …

 

Seung Gil wakes up feeling cold. 

It persists throughout the morning, and even after he finishes his warm-up. He tells himself that it’s fine. His body is loose from exercise and his balance is steady. Seung Gil slips on the gloves that go with his skate costume. His fingers feel stiff. He wrings his hands together. 

Breathe. 

His music is 4 minutes and 38 seconds. The order of the elements are layover camel spin, triple Axel, quad loop, step sequence, spin combination…should…he forgo the change in foot there? No, he’ll risk exhausting his right side in the following jump. He shouldn’t be changing anything. Spin combination, then quad toe, then—

“Seung Gil, it’s time,” his coach says behind him. Her words alarm him, and no, this is not fine. He’d eaten light meals and his stomach doesn’t feel sick. His outfit is smooth and clean. He’d properly done his stretches. The blades on his skates slice the ice with ease. 

So why is he like this?

_The memory of cruel whispers echoes in his head._

His breath stutters. 

His skin feels too tight. 

This isn’t good. He can’t—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**256.2**

The numbers feel like a wound.

“ **Although Seung Gil Lee recovered after a fall on his early quadruple loop…”**

His coach shields him past the post-program reporter, declining to answer any questions.

 **“…he suffered a huge loss in the standings and lost hope of advancing to the Grand Prix Final…** ”

His eyes and chest are burning. There’s something painful in his throat and he grits his teeth, trying to swallow it down. He only realizes that he’s crying when he looks down and sees the tears as they fall. His feet seem farther away than they should. 

“ **…but we look forward to seeing him in the Four Continents Championship.** ”

He can’t stay out here. 

Seung Gil makes a sharp left, turning into a hallway opposite to his coach’s intended direction. She looks over her shoulder at his retreating back. 

“Seung Gi—”

“Bathroom,” he calls back. Seung Gil quickens his pace, heading for the men’s room at the end of the hall. His head is bowed. He isn’t looking when he enters, and collides into the lone occupant who had been readying to leave. He stumbles, but a hand catches him below his shoulder and helps him keep upright. An apology starts on Seung Gil's tongue, but then he recognizes the red jacket all too well.

“Hey, it’s the Snow Prince!” JJ’s voice is too loud and too bright. Seung Gil doesn’t want to look at him.

“Don’t touch me.” he hisses, twisting his arm away. He pushes, intending to knock JJ’s hand away, but his strength dies partway through the action. A sudden numb pain spreads through his body. It makes his fingers curl into JJ’s sleeve without his consent. 

“Seung Gil?”

“I said don’t…tou…ch…” It feels like a rubber band is twisting around his heart. Seung Gil bends forward helplessly, air gone from his lungs.

“Hey.” JJ’s voice sounds strange. “Sit down. You’re alright.”

Seung Gil falls to his knees in a slow slide, supported by the grip of strong arms. His vision is spotty and he lolls backward, faintly aware that a wall is behind him. He needs air. His sharp, desperate gasps sound loud in the empty restroom.

“C’mon. Slow down, snowflake.”

Deft hands come around his throat, loosening his collar and tie.

“Breathe with me. Just breathe.”

Seung Gil feels one of his palms being pressed against a warm chest. It moves under his fingers, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Seung Gil tries to copy, stuttering at every inhale. It takes him several tries before the panic ebbs. When he comes to senses, Jean-Jacques Leroy is on the floor with him, holding his hand and brushing back his hair. 

“Why do you have to be here…” His voice is a feeble rasp. It sounds weak. 

“Well, it’s a public washroom,” JJ says with a smile. It’s softer than his usual expression. Seung Gil hates the way the other is looking at him.

“Leave me alone.”

“I can get your coach for yo—”

“ **Leave**.” The word comes out ugly and Seung Gil hates that such a sound came from himself. 

“…Yeah, alright.” JJ drops Seung Gil’s hand gently. “Take your time, okay?” 

Seung Gil doesn’t watch as the other exits the door. It’s not JJ’s fault, but in this moment, Seung Gil hates him. Figure skaters like the Canadian don’t understand. They’ve been skating before they were old enough to lace their own boots—had the chance to condition their bodies into the perfect instruments. Seung Gil had started when he was 11 years old. He had pushed himself past exhaustion, to the point that he’d dry heave in the middle of practice, just to shorten the difference of those few years. He’d fully committed himself to his sport. He’d gotten this far.

And he fucked up. 

Seung Gil clenches his jaw and braces a hand against the wall. His legs are still shaky, but he can walk. He approaches the line of sinks and studies his reflection. 

What a mess. 

Twisting on the cold tap, Seung Gil leans forward to catch the running water and splashes it on his face. He repeats this twice more before daring to look in the mirror again. A pale face stares back at him, tired, but otherwise fine. He shuts off the water and wipes his face with a napkin. He doesn’t bother redoing his shirt and simply zips his jacket up to his neck on his way out. His nurse practitioner startles from the wall adjacent to the door, then relaxes at seeing Seung Gil in one piece. 

“Your coach is in the media room. Let’s go,” he says, politely ignoring Seung Gil’s appearance. Seung Gil doesn’t ask who’d brought him. It is obvious enough. 

They find Min So quietly watching the start of Katsuki Yuuri’s free skate. She glances up at their arrival, lips pressed thin. Seung Gil takes a spot before the television without saying a word. He doesn’t acknowledge his coach’s stare as she takes in the red-rimmed eyes, damp eyelashes, and the wet hair clinging to his cheek. After a moment, she returns her gaze to the screen. 

“Your hair has gotten long.” Her remark is nonchalant. “You’re going to need a haircut when we return home.”

Home. 

Seung Gil closes his eyes and breathes. 

26 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days—he reminds himself in dark red. 

He’s far from done. It’s not over yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • "Park Min So" is listed under the voice actor credits in Episode 8. I deduce the name belongs to Seung Gil's coach. Since there's not much information about her, I gave Min So the same renown as real-life Shin Hae Sook, a coach respected and regarded as the godmother of Korean figure skating.   
>  • Almavivo is really 2 minutes and 12 seconds long, but that's under the ISU requirement for a short program. The anime also gave the triple Lutz-triple toe a 10.0 base value, but my math is telling me it should be 10.3? Someone please correct me if I am wrong.   
>  • Seung Gil is 20 years old according to his birthday, but the age system is different in South Korea. A person is born as 1 years old, and gains a year older after every New Year. Following this custom, Seung Gil's Korean age is 21 years old, and the Rostelecom Cup takes place late November.   
>  • Pelmeni are Russian dumplings stuffed with herbs and meat. The meat is usually pork; lamb; or beef, but other substitutes—like fish—can be found.   
>  • Maman [French] - (n.) mom   
>  • Shashlik is skewered and grilled cubes of meat, typically lamb; pork; or beef.   
>  • [Translation from Korean] 아빠: 집에 오면 할 일이 많다. 정신차리고 잘해라. ⥤ Dad: There is a lot to do when you come home. Focus your mind and do well.   
>  • Seung Gil’s FS outfit resembles Kim Jin Seo’s SP outfit from the 2014-15 season, bedazzled ties included. [[x]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/9GhHtk7Vv9s/maxresdefault.jpg)[[x]](http://www3.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Jin+Seo+Kim+ISU+Grand+Prix+Figure+Skating+h_o71sm9ixil.jpg)
> 
> I felt bad putting Seung Gil through this, but held no mercy in my heart.ヾ(_ _ ;)  
>  Season 1 of the anime ended today. The last episode gave me a lot of insight into the relationships between the skaters as well as their individual pride. It was so lovely. Everything was so lovely. So I'm celebrating the end by posting a new chapter that's my longest word count yet. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are wonderful, as always. You guys are so great. It really encourages me. Thank you~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Gigil_ [Tagalog] - (n.) the irresistible urge to pinch or squeeze something or someone that is unbearably cute

“Seung Gil. Leave and don’t come back.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but the deliberate tone makes it clear that the order is non-negotiable. Seung Gil still tries.

“I’ll sort myself out. I just need a moment to—”

“No.” The authority projected by Min So is enough to cause nearby people distance away from the student and coach pair. “You are to return to the hotel and stay there.”

“The programs—” Seung Gil starts to reason. 

“—will be available online,” Min So finishes for him, unshaken. “You can livestream it from your room if you want, but you’re not staying here. You’re exhausted.” She narrows her eyes at the way her student is swaying on his feet. “You’ve done all that is needed for today. I will call a taxi to pick you up. Go.”

“…Alright,” he agrees. His response receives a surprise look from his personal trainer, who knows all too well how stubborn Seung Gil can be. Min So raises her chin, taking her student’s easy acceptance as further support that she's right. And she is. Seung Gil cannot deny that. It’s a testament to his fatigue that he doesn’t feel more inclined to argue. He hurts all over, as if every muscle in his body had been wrung out. His legs ache just from a few minutes of standing and his chest feels like its bruised from the inside. Even words are coming slower to him, and it’s an effort to pass each one through his lips. Though he wants to see the competition day to its end, these issues are hard to ignore. 

“I’ll give you time to change,” his coach says. “Come to the back of the arena when finished.” Despite being tailor-made for on-ice performance, Seung Gil’s free skate outfit is ill-suited as protection against cold. That’s not an issue when he’s running warm from exercise, but the winter chill of Moscow is another matter. 

Seung Gil nods and picks up his backpack, threading his arms through the straps as he leaves. He winces at the noise level in the halls. It’s always loud during the breaks between events, but he doesn’t have the tolerance for it right now. Seung Gil pulls out his earphones and inserts them into each ear. He doesn’t bother reaching for his phone. The muted silence creates the illusion of solitude, and it calms him. Seung Gil stays close to the wall and lets his mind wander. His inattention comes with consequence. As he rounds the corner into Hallway B, Seung Gil finds himself suddenly caught within a pair of arms. They pull him forward, pressing him chest-to-chest to their owner, and wrap around his back to secure the hold. Seung Gil freezes in alarm. His hands hang in the air, at a complete loss on what to do. 

“Thank you,” the assailant says in a monotone voice. With their heads this close, Seung Gil can hear the words even through his obstructed hearing. Baffled, he starts to ask what the gratitude is for when the other abruptly pulls back and leaps down the hall. Dark eyes widen as they witness Katsuki Yuuri repeat the assault to an unsuspecting JJ, who’d been approaching in the company of his parents. The gold medalist grunts in surprise, face rigid at the unwarranted embrace. Seung Gil pulls his left earbud free to hear an explanation for this confounding behavior, but halts his question when Yuuri swivels to look back at him. Quiet madness radiates from vacant eyes. Seung Gil flinches when Yuuri bounds towards him, only to be shouldered past.

“Huh?!” Yuri Plisetsky bellows, running back the way he came. “Stay away from me!” His screams and footfalls echo down the hall and crescendo as he loops back to the junction from a connected hallway. With the quick wit of someone used to escaping fans, the blond skater ducks behind the backs of Sara and Emil, hiding himself behind their height. Seung Gil hadn’t noticed them earlier. Supported between the two is the Crispino brother, who looks too ill stand on his own. Sara and Emil are wearing the same perplexed face as JJ, and it’s simple to deduce that Seung Gil is not the first victim. All of them tense as Yuuri approaches again, but the Japanese athlete staggers past as if in a trance. 

“What an odd fellow,” Emil remarks in bemusement, the least unsettled one amongst them. 

“He’s lost his fucking head,” Yuri gasps, hands on his knees as he recovers from his sprint. 

Seung Gil counts heads. Five other figure skaters headed in the direction of Hallway B. Excluding Sara, they must be headed for the dressing room to change. Including the pairs teams, that’s quite a lot of people. Seung Gil decides to postpone his shower. It’s common sense to wash before changing into a set of clean clothes, but the idea of doing so in a crowded space makes him uneasy in the state he is right now. He’ll take one once he’s in his hotel room. Seung Gil tucks his chin, burying his nose into his jacket collar, and makes to leave. With Yuuri’s serial attacks still fresh in everyone’s minds, his movement catches attention. 

“Seung Gil, there you are!” Sara exclaims. She skips across the hallway to face him, intercepting his path. “Do you have plans later tonight? Let’s all go out for drinks! Mila says she knows a great place.” 

“I don’t like night life,” Seung Gil says. He glances at the spaces around her, trying to find an opening for exit.

“It’s just a small bar,” Sara assures with a fluttering gesture, “Nothing crazy will happen.”

“No.” The invitation provokes Seung Gil’s memory of her earlier friendship proposal. “Don’t bother yourself with me.” 

“Hm, then lunch?” Sara taps fingers against her mouth. “We have time before the gala. If you don’t like crowds, there are many quiet restaurants to choose.” 

“No.” Seung Gil’s tongue feels heavy. “I mean don’t bother at all. I’m not here to make friends. Your effort is a waste.” There’s a dramatic intake of breath from Emil. Seung Gil looks over his shoulder to see four sets of eyes watching the conversation unfold. He forgot about the others. “I’m leaving,” he announces, but Sara’s arm rises to bar his escape, her face twisted strangely.

“Are you okay?” The question catches Seung Gil off guard. “Your face looks pale,” Sara goes on to explain in concern, “And your hands…”

His hands? 

Seung Gil looks down and sees that his hands have a discernible tremor. He buries them into his pockets. 

“I’m leaving,” he repeats again. He is careful to keep his voice steady. 

“…Okay.” Sara nods, lowering her arm and stepping back. “I’ll find you another time.”

“Hold it,” Michele says in a hoarse voice. He’s still hanging from Emil’s shoulder. “When did you two—” 

“Going out for drinks, huh?” says JJ. He smirks and settles his hands against his hips. “Sounds fun! Where to?”

“You’re not coming!” Michele hisses.

“Of course I am,” JJ says in a spirited voice. He gives a hearty laugh. “Your sister just invited us! Though I think we need to leave the kitten behind. Can’t take kids out to a pub.”

“Hey!” Yuri howls. 

 Taking advantage of the commotion, Seung Gil hurries away. The dressing room is as busy as he’d predicted, but he changes his clothes without fuss and makes it out in record time to meet his coach at the back entrance. She has the luggage bag containing his skate equipment with her, and walks him to the waiting taxi before handing it off to the driver to pack in the trunk. 

It is Seung Gil’s intention to view the live competition from his room, but the combination of a hot shower and warm blankets has a devastating impact against his effort to stay awake. He remembers nodding off during the pairs’ event, and is annoyed by his defeat to sleep. The extra hours of rest serve him well though. His mind is clear, and after a 15 kilometer run on the treadmill, his body finally starts to feel like his own again. At noon, he meets his coach and companions in the lobby, and the four of them stop by for lunch along their way to the Luzhbiki Small Sports Arena. 

It feels strange entering the venue without his equipment, but Seung Gil isn’t a participant in the gala this time. He’d managed to scrape points in the remainder of his free skate, but sixth places too low to warrant an appearance on ice. He’s not bothered about the gala though. His performance is what upsets him. His form had been terrible, and it was the first time he’d failed the quad loop in competition. He needs to review the footage as soon as possible. That way, if such a thing happens again, he’ll know where his weaknesses lie and could—wait, where is he? 

Seung Gil’s feet stutter to stop as he realizes that his companions are nowhere in sight. This isn’t the hallway to the audience seating. He looks around for a clue to his current location. If he can find that out, getting to the correct destination shouldn’t be difficult. He spots a plaque and gets close to read it. Hallway D. That should lead into Hallway C if he keeps going straight. From there, he can find Hallway A and the stairwell leading to his designated seat. Satisfied with his plan, Seung Gil marches forth. He’s about two-thirds of the way there, by his estimate, when a hand grabs and turns him by his shoulder. 

“I found you, _you bastard_ ,” Michele growls at him. The Italian’s face is screwed into an unflattering scowl. 

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for the exhibition?” Seung Gil says. 

“I have time to beat your face in.” Michele moves his hand from Seung Gil’s shoulder to grab him by the front of his coat. “What are you trying to do with my sister?”

“I’m not invested in your sister in any way.”

“Bullshit.” Michele tightens his grip. “I keep seeing you two being friendly. She’s always smiling at you. You think you’re good enough for her?”

“She is acting on her own sense,” Seung Gil says, “And it troubles me. Let go of my coat.”

“Don’t talk about Sara like she’s a creep!” Michele’s nose flares in anger. “What’s your problem?!”

“Your question keeps changing.”

“Men always have dirty ideas about women. I’m not going to let any of them near my sister,” Michele says with conviction.

“You are a man.” 

“Going to do that, huh?” Michele snaps, releasing his hold to shove Seung Gil back. He steps close to glare down the shorter man.  “Make my feelings a sick joke? She’s the most important woman in my life. I’m not like any of you. I don’t want a girlfriend, need to get laid, or whatever filth is in your head. What’s wrong with that?!”

“I wouldn’t know.” How bothersome, but at least his coat is free now. Seung Gil turns and walks away. Michele Crispino is a known hothead, but he barks more than he bites. With the gala also due to start within the hour, the probability that Michele would throw fists right now are low.  

“What do you mean you wouldn’t know?” Michele demands, pursuing Seung Gil. 

“Because I don’t think about that,” Seung Gil says, annoyed. The slew of questions is starting to remind him of an interview. He stops and turns around to glare down his pushy aggressor. “Don’t interrogate me about relationships. I don’t have any, so leave me alone.” 

Michele narrows his eyes and wiggles his jaw as if chewing on words. He looks just like his sister when he does that. Seung Gil has no idea what the expression is supposed to mean. Michele’s mouth falls open and he takes a slow breath to speak, but then both figure skaters hear the sound of distant music and cheers. The victory ceremony is about to start. 

“ _Mannaggia_ ,” Michele swears. The bronze medalist backpedals towards the competitor entrance to the arena. “I’m watching you!” he warns as he dashes off. Seung Gil prefers to not run into either of the Crispino twins again. Their personalities seem dissimilar, but he can see now that both have volatile temperaments. He resumes his interrupted route at an unhurried pace. It’s fine if he misses the beginning of the medals ceremony. The exhibition is what he’s here to see. Min So gives him a look when he finally reaches his seat. She gives him a quick scolding for wandering off on his own, and then the two of them proceed to exchange occasional commentary on the ensuing performances. 

No longer burdened by the pressure of competition, the medalists skate with the intent to have fun. JJ cajoles the crowd to clap in time to his music as he hydroblades across the ice, and Yuri Plisetsky skates to a rock metal piece that is a perfect match to his rebellious attitude. The jovial mood carries into the all on ice, with Mila and Sara taking turns spinning each other across the rink. It’s a good closing to the exhibition. Seung Gil is reluctant to see it end. Unlike the exhibition, what comes after is something he isn’t excused from. 

Banquets on their own are fine. 

Putting on a suit and sitting through a coursed meal is not a problem. It’s the post-dinner mingling that gives him trouble. 

Seung Gil shifts his weight from one foot to the other as the blonde woman titters for the fourth time. He is having trouble breaking away from the one-sided conversation. Every time he tries to dismiss himself, she flips her hair and starts on another topic. Seung Gil has no interest in hearing about a vacation in New Zealand or her spiritual experience in Honduras. Hers is not a face that he recognizes and she doesn’t hold herself like a figure skater would. Probably a guest, which makes this even more uncomfortable. Seeking a distraction, Seung Gil signals to a server carrying champagne. He reaches for the last flute on the tray when a manicured hand sweeps in and plucks it first. Seung Gil stares as the young woman in front of him sips from the glass. 

“Why, thank you,” she coos, painted lips lifting into a coquettish smile. “What a gentleman. How’d you know I was thirsty?”

“I didn’t,” Seung Gil says, arm still raised. 

“I should tell you about my time in the German vineyards,” she giggles. She catches his hand with her own and interlaces their fingers. “I love a good riesling and theirs is the best in the world.” A nail scratches against his thumb. Seung Gil extracts his hand and shoves both into the safety of his pockets. The woman takes it as a shy gesture and gives him a coy look from beneath her eyelashes. Seung Gil feels unpleasant. 

“Good-bye,” he says in haste, and flees to the other end of the ballroom. His intended target should still be around here. He’d been contemplating on how to make his approach when the blonde had swooped on him. Seung Gil supposes he should be grateful. Thanks to her, his desire to be done with the evening now outweighs his social anxiety. 

“Damien Guillory?” he calls out. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline turns at the address. “Good evening.” Seung Gil offers his hand. “May I have a moment of your time? I’m—”

“I know you,” the man replies. He clasps Seung Gil’s hand and shakes it. “The Korean figure skater, Seung Gil Lee. You’re a hard one to miss.” The corners of his eyes crease as he smiles. He has a face that has lived a life of laughter and strikes the impression of a cheerful man.

“I want you to be my choreographer starting next season.” Seung Gil says. 

“Oh?” Damien raises his eyebrows. “Straight to the point, I see.”

“I will give you my contact information, so please take time to consider my request.” 

Besides the deliberate show of amusement, Damien shows no affected interest. Seung Gil wonders if he’d gone about this wrong. Still, the man doesn’t refuse Seung Gil’s phone number when it is given. 

“If I may ask, Mr Lee,” Damien says with a casual air, “What compels you to seek my service?” 

There are many reasons Seung Gil could list. Damien Guillory is a respected choreographer within the figure skating sphere. His programs have great balance and play upon the strengths of his clients. He also has a mind that takes advantage of the judging system. Seung Gil could give any of these as an appropriate answer, but he sees a glimmer in Damien’s eyes and something else entirely tumbles out instead.

“They look alive.”

“Pardon?” Damien asks.

Seung Gil blanches. 

“I mean…” He starts to amend his words, but Damien is giving him an prodding look. “…the ones who perform your programs. They look alive.” Seung Gil doesn’t know what to follow that up with and grows flustered. He sounds so childish. 

“I see,” Damien says. He looks at the young man with a thoughtful expression. “Thank you for your phone number, Mr Lee. I’ll provide my reply within the next few months.” 

Seung Gil nods, voice mute in embarrassment. He walks away with the irrepressible compulsion to either hide or drink. He finds a table to fill a flute and downs half the glass. The sweet and sour taste of champagne fizzes against his throat. A caterer looks aghast at his treatment of the sparkling wine, but Seung Gil ignores her. He finishes the flute and refills it with water. He’s been here several hours now. It should be fine to leave. He flicks out his cell phone to check the time. 

“Is that a dog?” 

Seung Gil stiffens. He looks to his right to see Katsuki Yuuri standing beside him, bespectacled eyes focused on his lock screen photo. The Japanese man wears a black two-piece suit with white dress shirt and, unlike Seung Gil in his three-piece ensemble, has a slate blue tie secured at the collar. Seung Gil takes a step away, but Yuuri just leans in further to make up for the distance. 

“Is that your dog?” Yuuri says, insistent. 

“…Yes.” Seung Gil watches as Yuuri’s face stretches into a crooked grin. 

“Looks cute!” Yuuri exclaims, eyes bright with delight. “What breed? What age? What name?” The smell of alcohol wafts from his breath. Recalling Yuuri’s last display of atypical behavior, Seung Gil presses his phone protectively against his chest and sets down his drink.

“Good nigh—”

“Lemme show you Makkachin.” Yuuri flicks out his cell phone and swipes through the screen with determination. He pushes the phone into Seung Gil’s face, presenting a photo of a silver-beige poodle. The dog is captured in mid-jump, ears flopping adorably in the air. “Viktor had Makkachin since _looong_ ago, when his hair was _this_ long!” The Japanese man makes an exaggerated motion with his arm. The smile on his face then dims. “But Makkachin might die.” 

“Why would the dog die?” Seung Gil says, alarmed. 

“Cuz Makkachin is in the hospital and…heeey, Seung Gil?” Yuuri places an inquisitive hand on Seung Gil’s arm. “I did the right thing…right?” Nervous brown eyes stare up at the Korean athlete. “I promised to do well without Viktor, made him go home, but I barely made it…”

Seung Gil isn’t sure how he went from trying to avoid the Japanese man to comforting him, but they’re sitting at a table now and Yuuri is refilling their glasses as he finishes his story about Vicchan’s life.

“And it was horrible, ‘cuz Vicchan…was always there for me,” Yuuri says with sniff, “Waiting for me. And I couldn’t…I couldn’t be there for Vicchan…”

“Vicchan would not be angry with you,” Seung Gil says with certainty. 

“He wouldn’t?” Yuuri hiccups. 

“No,” Seung Gil asserts, “B’cuz he loved you.” He drains the last of his wine. It sits nicely in his stomach, knocking loose something that had been tightly coiled inside him. It’s good. He feels warm. 

“But I was gone!” Yuuri slurs, “For five years!”

“He loved you,” Seung Gil insists, slapping a hand on the table to prove his point. The impact shakes the contents of his glass. Wait. Since when was it full? He needs to fix that. “That’s the bond between a human and a dog. It’s unconditioning…unconditional.” 

“Dogs are so great,” Yuuri sniffs, “I really hope Makkachin is okay…” 

“My dog…” Seung Gil watches the light glint off his drink. “I lost in a storm last year… Haru got outside and… I ran everywhere. Found her stuck under the bridge. So close to water, and I thought with the rain…” 

“Oh yeah,” Yuuri says, “And you got sick?”

“Yeah,” Seung Gil says. He subconsciously touches his ear. The infection hadn’t been bad, but he neglected it too far. One slip during practice, then the world spun so violently that he couldn’t raise his neck. His coach saw the fluid leaking from his ear. He’d never seen her so furious. Surgery managed to repair the perforated eardrum and restore his hearing, but the lasting vertigo was a dreadful handicap that season. “I was stupid.” 

“Love makes you stupid,” Yuuri says, accompanying the phrase with a solemn nod. “But it makes you strong! You saved your dog. You’re a hero! You’re stupid-strong!” He raises his glass in a passionate toast. Seung Gil obliges, though the reason for the salute is lost on him. 

“What are you idiots doing?” 

The two Asians look up to see Yuri and Mila standing before their table. Huh. Seung Gil doesn’t remember there being that many bottles before. He tries to count them. 

“It’s a toast!” Yuuri proclaims. He stands up on his chair. “It’s a party!” 

“Get down from there, pig,” Yuri scolds. 

“Get on my level, Yurio,” Yuuri returns back. He points at the blonde with an empty wine bottle and looks to Seung Gil with a suffering expression. “Kids these days. Can’t even keep up with the adults.” 

“Isn’t that why they’re kids?” Seung Gil says, listing to one side. His question makes Yuuri guffaw and twist so wildly that the chair tilts under him. To avoid toppling over with it, Yuuri whoops and lands a spinning jump onto the table, causing bottles to fall to their sides and roll off the edge. 

“Tada!” Yuuri shouts, maintaining the outstretched landing pose. Mila laughs and claps, entertained by the stunt. Seung Gil is impressed by Yuuri's balance.

“Is the psycho at it again?!” Michele yells, speeding to the group in a jog. Emil and Sara follow close behind him. Wow, what are the chances of them all being here? Seung Gil pauses and think harder for a moment. Actually, the chances are pretty high. Together, Michele and Emil manage to get Yuuri off the table and sat back onto his uprighted chair. 

“Booooring,” Yuuri complains, sulking and sipping the water forced into his hand. “We should be dancing—!” 

“ **No!** ” Yuri and Michele reject in unison. Sara meanwhile frets over the wobbling Korean.

“Your face is really red, Seung Gil,” she says, biting her lip in worry. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Seung Gil mumbles. He rises from his chair and is confused when the world doesn’t stop moving with him, rising to tilt over his head. 

“Seung Gil!” Sara screams. 

Why is she screaming? And where did the floor come from? Seung Gil frowns and pushes, trying to move it away. There’s the light thud of heels, and then hands are pulling at his shoulder until the carpet is under him where it belongs. 

“Thank you,” Seung Gil says, since it’s the polite thing to do.  

“Seung Gil, how much did you drink?”

“I’m not sure,” Seung Gil hums, closing his eyes. It feels comfortable having them shut. “The why…the wine. I think I had a lot.” Sara is a good person. He needs to remind her that her idea is bad. “I told you not to bother… I don’t people, it’s a misty...mistake. You be…disappointed…”

“I decide when to be bothered!”

Sara sounds far away. Is she going somewhere?

“Seung Gil? _Seung Gil!_ ”  

“What’s going on here?”

JJ joins the small gathering, having heard the kerfuffle and recognized the voices. He raises an eyebrow when he spots Sara on the floor, trying to rouse an unconscious man in a grey suit.

Wait a minute.

“Snowflake?” JJ crouches beside Sara and is bewildered to find he recognized correctly. “What happened to him?”

“ _Oba-na!_ ” Yuuri shouts, jumping to his feet. Emil and Yuri push him back down. 

Oh.

That explains everything. 

“You’ve got your hands full with that one,” JJ says, jerking his head to the uncooperative drunk yodeling from his seat. “I’ll take care of this guy.” He drapes one of Seung Gil’s arms over his shoulder and stands, taking the deadweight body with him. 

“You?” Sara says. She rises to her feet and casts a skeptical glance over the Canadian egoist’s fine-tailored designer suit. “You’re going to play nurse?”

“I’m the best at everything,” JJ says with an assuring wink. He leans forward and shifts Seung Gil onto his back, hooking hands under him to hold the weight. “Our rooms are right across from each other. I’ll drop him off, no problem.” Sara continues to look doubtful and Mila nudges her arm. 

“Don’t worry. If anyone knows how to handle a night of drinking, it’d be the playboy,” the redhead assures, but her friend doesn’t look convinced. 

“I will help you,” Sara says. 

“Oh?” JJ says with a chuckle, “Alone in a room with me and Sleeping Beauty? At this hour? Don’t think your doting brother would like that idea.” 

“Then I will escort you,” Sara amends, “There’s no way you can press the floor number, unless you plan to drop him on the floor.” Violet eyes dare him to challenge the claim, fierce gaze undiminished by Sara’s small frame and floral dress. JJ knows a determined woman when he meets one.

“Well then, m’lady.” JJ inclines his head towards the banquet doors. “Lead the way.” Sara huffs and strides across the ballroom. As if on cue, Michele bolts up in attention. 

“Sara? _Dove vai?_ ” he says, alarmed at seeing his sister leaving without him. 

“ _Sto andante con loro,_ ” Sara calls back. An horrified look overcomes Michele’s face and he rushes to catch up. “ _Solo fino all’ascensore_ , Mickey,” she sighs when he wraps a protective arm around her. Michele doesn’t let up at her reassurance and casts JJ a leery eye. JJ presents his most charming smile in return. 

“Yeah, Mickey. I have no idea what she just said, but chill it.” JJ can’t recall ever seeing the Italian figure skater relaxed. “Take a few pointers from parrot boy here. He doesn’t have a care in the world right now.” 

“Where are you taking him?” Michele motions his head in a quick jerk at JJ’s piggybacked passenger.

“We’re neighbors on the same floor. I’ll just settle him in his, then clock out for the night.” They finish crossing the lobby and turn into the hallway leading to the elevators. It’s late, so only a few hotel employees bear witness to the spectacle of a grown man being carried by another. The staff have the sense to not stare, but JJ can spy the nervous shuffles. Boy, if this make them anxious, just wait ’til Japan’s golden boy leaves the banquet. JJ really wants to see the reaction to that. He hopes someone records it. 

 Sara pulls ahead, disentangling from her brother, to press the button for a platform. One arrives with a chime just as JJ and Michele join her, and she steps half inside it to poise a finger over the floor options. 

“What number?” she asks. 

“Seven,” JJ says in a cheery tone as he enters the platform. Feeling his charge steadily slipping, he does a series of short hops to jostle Seung Gil higher up his back, leaning side to side adjust the position. Michele frowns at the casual handling of Seung Gil’s body. 

“Hey,” the Italian man calls out. He jabs a finger at JJ once he catches the other’s attention. “Don’t do anything funny. Just put him to bed.” 

JJ raises an eyebrow at the implication. Sure, he’s devastatingly dashing, but he’s got a handle on it. With great power comes great responsibility. He wonders why people keep failing to pick up on that.

“I’ve got a beautiful girlfriend, man,” JJ says, and begins a melodic proclamation. “The sunshine of my life. Keeper of my heart. The number one of _the_ Number One. My—”

“You already have paws on his ass,” Michele glowers.

“Hey, that wasn’t—oh.” JJ shifts his hands so that his grip relocates to a less conspicuous location. 

“Oh?” Sara repeats, narrowing her eyes. “What were you saying before that?” 

“That my girlfriend is beautiful.” JJ flashes a winsome smile. Sara continues to look at him with suspicion, but presses the button for the seventh floor and exits the platform. 

“If this goes wrong…” she starts in a warning voice. The threat goes unfinished, instead implied through a meaningful stare and sharp cutting motion across her neck. 

“I’m a perfect gentleman!” JJ continues on even as the elevator doors begin close. “I’ll tuck the princess in safely, I swear. I’ll leave a note with some water, even autograph it to show that I care.” The doors slide shut before his oath could receive a response. JJ hums as he watches the floor numbers climb up on the display panel. 

“You know,” he says when his eyes catch on their image on the metal doors, “When I said to let it go, I didn’t mean you to take it this far.”  

Seung Gil responds with the expected quiet of an unconscious drunk. 

“You’re in luck that I spotted you,” JJ chats on, focused on the reflected mop of black hair. “If the others had to call your coach… Are the two of you related? You both have that ‘I can cut you with my eyelashes’ look. Well, in any case, it’d suck to have a lecture with a hangover, eh? Ah, here’s our stop!” 

JJ strides out of the platform and towards the east wing, the repetition of the route helping him remember which halls to turn. Left, left, right. The only difference is that he’s not headed for his hotel room. JJ whistles as he approaches the door opposite to his own. It’s when faced with the door lock though, that JJ realizes his dilemma. 

“Hey, snowflake. Wanna hand me your key card?” 

Silence.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” JJ sighs and lowers his knees. He loosens his grip so that Seung Gil’s legs graze the floor, and then turns, sliding hands up to loop around the other’s waist. For an athlete who should be made of muscle, the guy is lighter than expected. JJ grunts and swivels the both of them around, using the door to prop Seung Gil upright. 

He forgets that unconscious people cannot stand on their own though, and his ward slumps, diving face-first towards the floor. 

“ _Woah!_ ” JJ shouts and crowds forward, catching Seung Gil’s head against his chest. He pushes the drunk back into a vertical position, this time using his legs to pin the other in place. “Close one. Whew.” It’s a bit uncomfortable, but now he has both hands free. JJ busies himself with searching for the key card. Nothing in the outer pockets. JJ lifts open the grey suit jacket to runs fingers along its lining. The motion causes Seung Gil’s head to flop onto his shoulder, but besides tickling his face, it’s not in the way. 

“Oh,” gasps a soft, female voice. 

JJ glances over his shoulder to see a young woman peeking through an ajar door from down the hall. He recognizes her as an ice dancer from the competition. Damn, he forgot to keep his voice low with the near scare.

“Sorry, will keep down the noise level,” JJ says with a sheepish smile. The woman flushes, pale eyes growing wide. 

“It’s fine!” she squeaks and shuts her door in a hurry. 

Strange, she didn’t seem like the shy type with her tango-inspired free skate. Then again, several skaters become whole other people on the ice. Or maybe she recognized him. JJ feels bad for ignoring a potential fan, but he’s got his hands full. He makes note to talk to her next time he sees her. Well, back to his search. The left inside turns out empty, but he finds a wallet tucked in the right side. JJ brings it to eye level and finds his quarry in the outside slot. 

“Ha!” He fits the key card into the lock slot and watches light buzz green. “Here we go then.” This time minding the limp body in his care, JJ lifts his ward into a fireman carry and twists open the door. The light switches are on the same-side wall as his own room, but the layout is otherwise a mirror replica. He takes a moment orient himself and then advances towards the bed. 

JJ deposits his burden at the edge of the mattress and gets his first clear look at the drunk’s face. The guy frowns even when unconscious, how cute. JJ chuckles as he wiggles off the shoes on Seung Gil’s feet. He tucks the socks inside each and sets them beside the bed. It’s when he rises to his feet that JJ spots the wrinkles forming on Seung Gil’s suit. 

There’s no way the Canadian trendsetter could overlook that. 

JJ leans over the bed. Slipping off the jacket takes a bit of handling, but the waistcoat comes off much easier with its lack of sleeves. He finishes pulling the belt free from its loops and stops, staring down at the last piece of the set. 

Taking the pants off someone while they’re unconscious is a bit… Yeah. He’ll leave that alone.

JJ gathers his collected items and heads to the sliding closet, singing under his breath as he fumbles for a hanger. “ _Now, I rule the world. And the starry sky, spreading above~_ ” He layers the jacket over the waistcoat and runs the belt buckle through the the hook. Once satisfied that the seams are aligned, he tucks the hanger back into the closet and closes it shut. 

Next on the agenda is water, right? 

JJ sidles over to the adjacent kitchenette and pulls open the fridge, shaking his hips as he gets to the chorus. “ _I can rule the world, JJ, just follow me! I will break the walls, now look at me. Fools or even wise aren't the enemies. This is who I am, just remember me. I’m the king, JJ, no one defeats me! This is who I am, baby. Just follow me off the grou_ aaAAAHH!” 

Seung Gil looks at JJ with confused eyes that soon widen in pain when a water bottle is pitched into his stomach. JJ gapes at his own outstretched arm in horror as Seung Gil crumbles to the kitchenette tile, curling over his middle with a distressed whimper. 

“Sorry!” JJ screams. 

The Korean presses slender fingers over his mouth and lurches. 

“Shit! Don’t get sick! _Shit!_ ” JJ dives for the plastic waste bin under the sink and slides back on his knees, the lid gone in a blind toss behind his head. He gets the bin under Seung Gil’s face just in time. JJ winches at the choking coughs between each retch. “Sorry. I didn't see you. It’s completely my bad,” he says, rubbing comforting circles between Seung Gil’s shoulders. When the volley of vomit ceases, JJ sets the bin aside and nabs a dish towel from the counter. He wipes Seung Gil’s mouth and retrieves the water bottle to twist off its cap.

Seung Gil flattens his mouth in displeasure upon seeing the cause of his pain. 

“Here.” JJ presses the bottle into the other’s palm. He holds it there until the fingers curl enough to hold it on their own. “Spit some of it first before drinkin— _ffft!_ ”

JJ sputters as water pours over his face. He quickly grabs Seung Gil’s wrist and lowers it to the floor. The water bottle crinkles between their hands, half empty. JJ blinks in astonishment, too shocked to be mad. 

“Guess I deserve that.” He flips over the dish towel and rubs it against his face. “Surprised to see you up and about. You looked dead to the world, and since when did you get so close with the twins? I thought they were going to sneak me to a corner and shoot me…” His voice trails off when he feels something cool brush against his cheek. “Hm?” JJ flutters open his eyes.

Seung Gil is studying his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The touch against his cheek turns into a caress as fingers press along his left jaw. JJ glances down at the dish towel and sees a beige stain on the white linen.

Ah. He must have rubbed off the make-up.

“Yeah, that’s you.” JJ tilts his head so that the other can get a better look at the bruise. “Strong right hook you’ve got there. What’s that face? Feel bad for marring such a beautif— _ow!_ ” JJ yelps as the gentle touch changes to a sharp pinch.

“ _Jinjja da…yeogi wae…_ ” Seung Gil trails off in low voice and drops his hand.

“I don’t speak Korean,” JJ whines, rubbing his abused cheek. “So mean. You make a terrible princess.” Seung Gil stares back him unfazed. JJ lets his eyes wander, checking for further injuries from the water bottle toss, and notices the water stains splashed across the other’s torso. “Ugh, your shirt got wet too.” It wouldn’t do for his patient to catch a cold. JJ reaches over and starts undoing the buttons. He manages to unfasten the first three before the drunk clues in on what’s going on. Seung Gil’s eyes grow wide.

“No!” he shouts and jerks back, clasping a protective hand over his chest. His alcohol-induced flush darkens as he kicks his heels at JJ. 

“Don’t look at me like that, man,” JJ says, catching the flying ankles. Seung Gil looks betrayed that his attack was overcome so easily. “You can’t sleep in wet clothes.” 

“No!” Seung Gil pulling back his feet and draws his knees close to his body. His mouth bunches into a petulant pout.

“What, are you going to do it yourself then?” JJ asks with a grin. He can’t help but find the stubbornness amusing. 

“I will do it!” Seung Gil turns his body away to run clumsy hands over his front. It takes several minutes, with Seung Gil casting furtive glances over his shoulder, but the last buttons finally come undone. Seung Gil gives JJ a proud look at the feat. 

“Good job,” JJ praises with a snigger. He gives a short applause. This is too cute. “I’ll find you a change of clothes,” he says, climbing to his feet. “Think you can get the pants too?” 

Seung Gil looks down at his legs with determination and nods. 

“Great! Just let me walk you to the bed, okay?” JJ keeps his voice light and compelling. “The floor is uncomfortable, right?” He offers a well meaning hand. “It’d be better to sit on something soft, right?”

A mulish frown twists Seung Gil’s lips, but the inebriated man acquiesces, raising his arms in the universal sign to be picked up.

Laughter bubbles from JJ’s chest. Just for the fun of it, he sweeps the other up in a princess carry. The stupefied expression he receives is well worth it. 

“No!” Seung Gil struggles, but then latches onto JJ’s neck when resisting proves to make the carry less steady. “ _Naelyeo nwa! Yah!_ ”

“I don’t speak Korean!” JJ replies, carried away in mischief. He gasps. “Oh no, you’re heavy!” His leg drops in an exaggerated stumble when halfway across the room. Seung Gil yelps and clutches the Canadian tighter. He remains hilariously stiff in JJ’s arms after that.

“Here we are!” JJ announces and sets him down in the middle of the mattress. Seung Gil refuses to let go at first, but then releases JJ’s neck once assured of the lack of danger. JJ grins at him. “I’ll go get you that change of clothes, okay?” He waits for an affirmative nod before jogging to the far corner where luggage bags are piled. JJ searches each one, but finds that they’re oddly devoid of clothing. He glances over at the dresser. Acting on hunch, he pulls out a drawer and finds a neat stack of sweaters inside. Wow, the guy actually uses the hotel furniture? JJ’s mirth only grows when he discovers a pair of pyjama pants patterned with sweatered pugs. He grabs them along with a grey t-shirt, and turns back to the bed. 

Seung Gil blinks owlishly from under a bundle of bedsheets, the wet dress shirt and trousers flung to the floor beside the bed. He looks like a giant croissant. 

“ _Pffft_ —ahahahahah! Did you get cold?” 

The Korean pouts and impatiently grabs for the items in JJ’s hands. 

“Alright, alright! Here.” JJ passes over the clothes while clutching his sides. It’s been months since he last laughed this hard. For some reason, the stoic figure skater always manages to surprise him. After regaining his composure, JJ picks up the discarded clothes to add them to the closet. Seung Gil ends up putting the t-shirt on backwards, but JJ doesn’t point it out. He’s too busy bitting his lip at the the way Seung Gil’s head keeps wobbling, dark eyes blinking rapidly in an effort to stay awake. “C’mon. Bedtime.” JJ rolls his lethargic ward under the covers.

“Can’t sleep…” Seung Gil mumbles, shaking his head even as he nuzzles into the pillows.

“Princess, you’re already halfway there,” JJ teases. He picks up a notepad from the night table and rummages its drawer for a pen. 

“Can’t sleep…swaying…” 

“That’s because you’re drunk, snowflake,” JJ chuckles, “Sleep is the best way to get through it.”

“No, not…no. Floating away…” 

Something in Seung Gil’s voice gives JJ pause. He glances back to the bed to see the tired athlete clutching a pillow as if it’s an anchor. 

“I’ll float away…” Seung Gil says, eyes open wide and afraid. He sounds so sure of it, and that doesn't settle well with JJ. He sets the notepad down to sit at the edge of the mattress.

“No, you won’t,” JJ assures. He runs a comforting hand through the other's hair. 

“Noooo,” Seung Gil disagrees. He leans in closer, eyes fluttering at the touch. “Float away…and fall…”

“You won’t float or fall anywhere.” Confidence emanates from JJ’s voice. “I carried you here just fine, right? You don’t need to worry, just go to sleep.”

“… _Yaksok hae?_ ” Seung Gil whispers. JJ doesn’t need to know Korean to understand the plea. 

“Of course.” JJ soothes, and tucks a lock of hair behind an ear. “I promise to always catch you, and a king always gives his word. Okay?”

Seung Gil sighs and closes his eyes. He doesn't know why, but he wants to believe. 

“…Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • In Episode 9, Sara tells Michele that "[he doesn't] have to come support [her] at the Women's Free Skate tomorrow". However, the real-life Rostelecom Cup schedules all free skates to happen within the same day, meaning that the Ladies event shouldn't be happening the day after. I decided follow the real-life schedule for peace of mind.   
>  • The Luzhbiki Small Sports Arena in Moscow, shown as the Rostelecom Cup venue in Episode 8. [[x]](http://photos.wikimapia.org/p/00/03/64/69/11_big.jpg)   
>  • There are usually 10 to 12 competitors in the men's event at the Rostelecom Cup, so though Seung Gil ranked last amongst the YOI boys, he did not place last in the competition.   
>  • “Welcome to the Madness” is Yuri Plisetsky’s canon exhibition music. [[x]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IBMA6tuJlis)   
>  • Mannaggia [Italian] - (int.) damn   
>  • Damien Guillory is an original character of my own creation, and is lightly inspired by real-life David Wilson. Wilson has choreographed for many remarkable figure skaters, and played a significant influence in Kim Yuna’s career.   
>  • Cha Jun Hwan and Kim Jin Seo are two Korean figure skaters who sustained ear injuries during their careers, yet continued to compete for the season. I decided to base an injury off theirs.    
>  • Oba-na! [Russian] - (int.) an expression equivalent to “wow!” or “yeah!”   
>  • [Translation from Italian] Dove vai? ⥤ Where do you go?   
>  • [Translation from Italian] Sto andante con loro. ⥤ I am going with them.   
>  • [Translation from Italian] Solo fino all’ascensore ⥤ Only as far as the elevator   
>  • [Translation from Korean] Jinjja da…yeogi wae… ⥤ It's real…why here…   
>  • [Translation from Korean] Naelyeo nwa! Yah! ⥤ Put me down! Hey!   
>  • [Translation from Korean] Yaksok hae? ⥤ You promise?
> 
> Happy New Year, guys! Kicking it off with a new chapter. I had a swell time with this chapter, so I hope you had a great time reading it. (￣▽￣*)ゞ I did a bit of POV switching, so I hope it doesn't come across as too confusing or messy. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your continuing support. Comments and kudos really brighten my day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nam jai_ (น้ำใจ) [Thai] - (n.) sincere kindness and willingness to help others without expecting something in return

It feels like he’s coming back from the dead.

Seung Gil groans and burrows deeper into the blankets, but there’s no escaping the terrible sensations creeping to his awareness. His brain feels more liquid and bloated than it should, like it was processed through a blender and beaten with a whisk. There’s a whole desert stuck between his eyelashes and it tastes like something died inside his mouth. He feels grimy and in desperate need of a shower. Seung Gil opens his eyes. Then shuts them again, caught unprepared by the harm it does him. He does his best to not move.

A relentless headache. Heavy exhaustion. Aversion to sunlight. 

The classic symptoms of a hangover. 

Seung Gil allows himself a moment of silence to steep in regret. He’s not one to drink so much, so why had he? A confused sound rumbles from his throat as he tries to sort out last night’s events. There was the gala. He spoke with Damien Guillory at the banquet. Then…Katsuki Yuuri talked about…they held an entire conversation…? Something about dogs and hospitals and…tabletop-dancing? 

Seung Gil slides his palms over his face and presses the heels into his temples, as if trying to steady the bleary images in his head. The undeniable aches and pain in his body assure him that he’s not dreaming, but his memories seem too absurd as real. Alcohol isn’t a hallucinogenic substance, is it? He tries to swallow and gasps in pain. His throat is sandpaper-dry. 

Water…

He thinks about the distance to the small kitchen. 

He thinks about it longer than he should. 

Delaying the inevitable is pointless. This won’t get any easier. 

 Seung Gil clenches his teeth and heaves up into a sitting position. His brain somersaults with the momentum, overwhelming his senses with nausea. He focuses on the dark inside of his eyelids until the spinning slows, and then pulls himself forward, inch by inch. When his legs are finally over the mattress’ edge, Seung Gil reaches blindly to brace himself up with the night table. He’s too unsteady. Instead of touching a smooth surface, his hand hits something, knocking it to the floor with a crackling thud. The sound booms in his ears like a canon and he flinches, both worried and hurt by the noise. Had he broken something? He’d have to pay damages. Seung Gil steels himself for the worst and opens his eyes. 

It take a couple seconds for his vision to focus on the water bottle lying on the carpet. Seung Gil squints at it, then raises his gaze to the night table. There are no less than three water bottles standing on the squat piece of furniture, along with a 20-ounce bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade and a box of saltine crackers. Seung Gil doubts he had the functionality to think ahead like this while inebriated, and is proven right when he spots the slip of paper folded underneath the sports drink. He reaches out to pull it free and reads.  

> _Hey there sleepyhead! Dunno how much you remember but DAMN you were GONE last night. I’m kinda impressed. Nothing embarrassing on SNS, don’t worry about that. Your suit is in the closet. Hope you feel better by lunch time!_
> 
> ❈ _Jean-Jacques Styleborn of House Leroy, First in His Name, the Rising King, and Savior of Drunks_

The drinking was definitely a mistake. 

Seung Gil groans and flops backs, clenching the note in his fist. 

Of all the people, it had to be…wait, his suit? 

He looks down at himself and realizes that he’s dressed in sleepwear. Hazy memories play out in his head— _someone singing, his fingers fumbling over shirt buttons, a sparkling laugh, “did you get cold”._ Seung Gil rolls over onto his front and beats the mattress with his hands. With no witnesses to mind, he abuses the bedding for as long as his strength lasts and then, with his remaining dignity, uncaps a bottle of water. 

The night table setup allows him to suffer the next several hours in bed, and by the time Seung Gil makes his trip to the toilet, he feels surprisingly better. The headache is still there, but his neck doesn’t feel weak from the weight of it. Light and sound still hurt, but they don’t have a crippling effect. Encouraged by the improvement to his condition, he decides to brave a shower. It doesn’t do anything for his internal ailments, but the comfort of being clean softens his mood. He dries his hair and exits the bathroom, rolled up in a terry cloth bathrobe.

“Morning!” 

Seung Gil startles, nearly tripping over his feet. He swivels to the breakfast bar to see JJ sitting on a stool, casually texting as if he belongs there. The Canadian peeks from over his phone, looking all too pleased by the reaction. 

“Glad to see you awake with the sky, Elsa!” JJ says, tucking the phone inside his black hoodie. It’s definitely a hoodie. Though the front has the fancy design of a peacoat, the drawstring hood gives it away. A charcoal scarf is looped around his neck, framing a pair of silver-mirrored sunglasses tucked over the collar of his shirt. JJ hops off his seat and walks closer. “All due to my expert care, of course.” 

Oh hell.

“How did you get in here?” Seung Gil demands. 

“Found the spare room key on the dresser.” JJ flicks out a plastic card and offers it to Seung Gil, who takes it in bewilderment. “Took it just in case you passed out in the shower or fell down the stairs.”

“There are no stairs in this suite,” Seung Gil says. He stares at the key card in his hand. “You robbed me while I was drunk.” 

“You know what I mean.” JJ says, waving an unconcerned hand in the air. He then lowers it in a dramatic splay across his chest. “I can’t leave a damsel in potential distress. Plus, I don’t do anything half-assed. It’s not my style. Now!” Seung Gil goes rigid at the sudden weight of hands falling on his shoulders. Before he has the chance to shrug them off, they turn him around and push against his back, walking him across the room. “You took a long time in there, though I can’t blame you. Man, there was this one night that destroyed me. Still can’t remember what I had that did me in, but—”

“What is this?” Seung Gil cuts in. The bed is not in the same state he left it. The blankets are shoved to one side, making space for a layout of clothing. His eyes pick out the familiar shape of his favorite turtleneck sweater. His mind feel like it’s in a whirl, and it’s not due to his headache. “What are you doing?” 

“We’re getting lunch!” JJ announces in a bright tone. He chuckles at the unenthused expression he gets in response. “C’mon, eating something will help your hangover.” The well-meaning intruder shakes out a long-sleeved shirt from the pile. “And I’m hungry, which means you must be _starving_.” 

“Room service is—”

“ _Pssh!_ ” JJ shoves the shirt over Seung Gil’s head, muting and blinding him. Seung Gil spits at the mouthful of fabric and flails as the neck of the shirt is forced over his head. “You don’t need room service, you need wholesome stuff with carbs! There’s already a place in mind, so get dressed and let’s go.” 

“This is pointless!” Seung Gil hisses. He feels stupid with a shirt hanging around his neck. He tugs at it and scowls. “I’m fine and you have no business being here.” His chest feels hot and the words keep coming, sharp and gaining in volume. “You **stole** from me and _ransacked_ my clothes. Is this a fucking joke? I don’t care what you do for entertainment, but don’t involve me!” 

“Wow, grumpy,” JJ observes in fascination. He looks relaxed and unbothered, and it’s maddening. “I didn’t know you could make faces and talk like that, snowflake. So mean.” 

 _“So mean…”—_ Seung Gil’s memory echoes—“ _You make a terrible princess.”_

“You—!” Seung Gil fumbles to organize a sentence, a scream building in his throat. 

“Sorry, sorry,” JJ says and pats the fuming Korean’s hair. The familiarity of the weight makes Seung Gil’s mouth click shut, lest he make a shameful noise. He can feel his ears burning. “I don’t mean to poke fun at you. Really. Hangovers suck, and only suck worse when you eat wrong. I don’t want you getting sick again, I felt bad enough the first time.” JJ smiles and removes his hand, pointing to himself with his thumb. “It’s my treat, ‘kay? An all-expenses-paid trip! You can stay in if you really want to, but who rejects free food? And you know I’m right.”

Seung Gil considers literally kicking JJ out of his room, but he’s lost hold on his anger in the wake of embarrassment. The hopeful, blue eyes staring him down only serve to worsen his flustered state. He uses the shirt to hide half his face and mumbles through the fabric. “…Wait outside.” 

JJ’s expression lights up at the implied surrender. He steps backward toward the door, arm raised in a salute. “I’ll stand guard and protect your virtue, no worries,” he swears with a jaunty wink. 

Seung Gil doesn’t reply. He waits for the door to click shut before collapsing on the edge of the bed, face buried in his hands. He needs to compose himself. He glances down at the clothes laid out beside him and sighs. It’d be simple to ignore JJ now that the nuisance is locked outside, but Seung Gil strips off his bathrobe to finish putting on the shirt. He pushes his arms through the sleeves and pulls the fabric over his stomach, wondering what the hell he’s doing. Based off the pattern of their past encounters, there is next to nothing to look forward to by going along with the conceited figure skater. 

Seung Gil finds clean underwear and slips dark jeans over them.

It’s unreasonable. 

He wiggles into the turtleneck sweater and rolls on thick socks. 

Completely absurd.

Seung Gil opens the closet and pulls on his coat and boots. 

Utterly stupid, but trying to analyze the situation is exhausting what energy he has left, so he stops. It’s not like Seung Gil to throw away caution, but it’s also unlike him to unload his anger like that. His hangover is affecting his self-restraint, but he’s tired and hungry and doesn’t _care_ anymore. 

Seung Gil swipes his wallet and key card from the kitchen counter and makes for the door. JJ perks up from his waiting spot outside it. 

“Alright!” JJ cheers, and leads the way to the elevators, “So the place is a buffet, but it’s lunchroom cheap. It has all sorts of food, but the important thing is that there’s a lot of it. Not too fancy or lazy, kinda laid-back.” A chime echoes in the hallway. JJ pulls out his cell phone and checks the screen. “Do you have any food allergies?”

“No, but too much dairy doesn’t sit well with me,” Seung Gil replies. 

“Huh.” JJ taps his chin with the edge of his phone case as he takes in this new fact. “Is that why your latte had soy milk? I asked the barista what the weird aftertaste was. It got really strong towards the end.” 

“You drank my coffee.” Seung Gil is unsurprised, really. 

“ _You_ drank _my_ coffee,” JJ counters. 

“I threw it out,” Seung Gil sets straight. 

JJ looks scandalized. 

“I don’t drink black,” Seung Gil explains.

“It had a double shot of espresso!” JJ exclaims. 

Seung Gil makes a disgusted face. 

“Heathen!” JJ accuses, sweeping his phone-wielding arm in the air. His voice takes on an exaggerated tone. “To scorn the rich taste of—”

“It tasted like tar.”

“ _Ohhh!_ ” JJ throws an elbow over his face, but there’s an upturn to his lips that betrays his show of despair. “You hurt me. I’m in so much hurt. I’m never getting BFF charms with you.” 

Seung Gil’s brow furrows in confusion. “What does beef have to do with anything?” 

“Bee— _pfft!_ ” JJ throws back his head and laughs. “It’s slang. Oh geez. BFF. Stands for ‘Best Friends Forever’.”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Seung Gil says as he presses the elevator call button. “We’re not even friends.” A set of doors immediately open to their far right. They’d caught a descending platform, good timing. Seung Gil walks towards the open doors, then slows when he realizes that JJ isn’t keeping step with him. He looks over his shoulder and catches an odd expression on the other's face. It’s like he’d meant to smile, but forgot how to halfway. 

“Well,” JJ says. His lips finish forming a grin, but it looks wrong somehow. “Don’t take things too seriously, man.” The Canadian steps forward into the platform. Seung Gil presses for the lobby and glances at his companion. He feels bothered and speaks before he means to. 

“We never spoke before this competition.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” JJ agrees.

“We’re completely unalike.” 

“Yeah,” JJ says again, with a weak chuckle. 

Seung Gil stops talking, unused to taking initiative in conversation. He feels like he’s doing it wrong. The rest of the elevator ride is spent in awkward silence. When the doors ding open to the lobby, they head to the hotel entryway where taxis are parked in wait. Seung Gil notices a pad of the hotel’s stationary when they pass the help desk, and is reminded of the handwritten note. It was excessive, like JJ, but sincere. Actually, the arrogant figure skater himself is surprisingly sincere.

Seung Gil winches at the burn of direct sunlight as he steps outside. He raises a hand to shield his eyes when something dark suddenly obstructs his vision. Seung Gil jerks his head back, but a hand behind his neck stills him as the pair of sunglasses are slide over his nose. 

“Sorry, I forgot about your eyes,” JJ says as he withdraws his hands. “Does that help any?”

Seung Gil blinks through the filtered lens, eyes feeling much more at ease. He adjusts the frames to sit evenly over his ears. "...I will return them later.”

JJ nods and turns away, raising an arm to signal a driver. Seung Gil enters the taxi first and looks across as JJ climbs in after. JJ shuts the door while focusing on his cell phone in one hand. He finds what he’s looking for and leans forward to read out an address. Despite the Canadian’s halting pronunciation, the driver nods and repeats the words back in fluid Russian. JJ responds with a thumbs up and grins when the driver returns the gesture, blue eyes crinkling at the corners as they’re pushed up by the cheeks. 

Ah. 

That’s what was wrong.

His eyes hadn’t been smiling. 

“Why?” Seung Gil blurts.

JJ turns his head, eyes wide at sudden outburst. “Uh. It’s the closest location? I didn’t think you’d want to go too far out of the way.”

“No,” Seung Gil says, “Why did you…” He trails off, realizing that he doesn’t know his own question. Not fully, at least. He tries anyway. “Why did you lie?”

“What?” JJ turns so that his body faces Seung Gil. He frowns. “I don’t remember lying.”

“It was after I said—” Seung Gil stops, struck with realization. “…Why would you want to be my friend?” 

JJ blinks, and then can’t seem to stop or keep his gaze on one spot. He rubs his neck and coughs into his hand. “Because…I think you’re cool?” 

“I’m a difficult person.”

“So?” JJ’s mouth twists into a perplexed frown. He leans back against the door on his side. “Being difficult doesn’t mean you have to be alone.” 

“I’m not lonely,” Seung Gil snaps.

“I…didn’t say that,” JJ replies.

It feels like Seung Gil had been more honest than he’d meant to be. The two of them stare at each other for a long moment, words hanging in the air. Seung Gil watches as the confusion in JJ’s expression shifts to awareness, and turns away first. He diverts his attention to the play of light on the upholstery and pretends everything is fine. JJ continues to stare, undeterred by Seung Gil’s reaction. He shifts, settling into a more comfortable sit, and inhales a deep breath. 

“I’m not lonely either.” 

The words cause Seung Gil to look back at him. 

“But it’s kinda nice, right?” JJ continues. He studies the way his sunglasses sit on Seung Gil’s face and offers a faint smile. “Not being on your own.” 

Seung Gil looks down and considers the space between them. “…It’s not bad.”

“Yeah,” JJ agrees. His smile warms. “What if—”

“Ve’re here!” announces the driver. His boisterous voice is like a hammer, startling both backseat occupants out of their subdued conversation. JJ laughs sheepishly, face tinged red. Seung Gil looks away and huffs. Somehow, both of them are in a better mood. JJ pays the fare and exits the taxi first, holding out the door for Seung Gil. It takes the former a couple scoots to get out of the car. 

“Right. This way!” JJ declares, spinning around marching in a direction. He leads them to a place that is all glass windows with green metal frames. Despite being large enough to span three levels, the interior has a relaxed atmosphere. Large clocks and knick-knacks line the walls and the tables are small, meant to seat two or four. Several of them are pushed together to accommodate large groups, but patrons seem mindful about their level of noise. It’s dim enough inside that Seung Gil removes the sunglasses and tucks them into a coat pocket. JJ presses a hand behind Seung Gil’s back and guides him to the back where the food is. The Canadian was right. There’s a lot of to choose from. Seung Gil picks up a mint green tray and squints at the tiny English descriptions under each dish. 

“It’s beef and potato stew,” JJ reads for him when he has trouble with one. “Looks like it has onions and carrots too. You want?” 

“I can manage on my own,” Seung Gil replies, picking up the ladle. He carefully excludes the orange chunks on the pot. The two of them work their way through all the sections, finishing with trays heaped with plates. The employee at the register raises an eyebrow at their amount of food, but rings them up without comment. 

“C’mon. We can’t keep the others waiting,” JJ says, climbing the stairs to the higher and quieter floors.

“Mm,” Seung Gil vaguely hums, distracted by the red chandelier hanging overhead. He follows JJ up to the second floor landing and then stops, mind finally catching up. “Who’s waiting?”

“Haha! Well, y’know,” JJ says with a nervous laugh, “I ran into your bodyguards this morning. They looked ready to gut me, so I told them that I planned to take you out for lunch if you felt up to it.”

“I don’t have hired protection.” 

“Your self-appointed Italian ones,” JJ amends. He steps aside so that a couple could pass him by. Seung Gil realizes that he too is obstructing foot traffic, and resumes ascending up the staircase. 

“You didn’t mention extending the invitation to others,” Seung Gil accuses.

“They invited themselves!” JJ defends, “And I totally meant to! But…” JJ trails off and Seung Gil tenses, having a good guess on what had upset the Canadian into forgetting. “Anyway,” JJ continues. He throws Seung Gil a reassuring smile. “I think they just didn’t trust me when I said you were fine.” He makes an insulted snort. “Can you believe that?” 

“Yes,” Seung Gil replies in honesty. 

“What?” JJ gapes at him as they reach the third floor landing. “I am the kindest, brightest, sexiest nurse you could ask for!” 

“That is a biased statement,” Seung Gil says, and ignores the subsequent reaction in favor of checking their surroundings. There are only a few occupied tables at the topmost floor, so it only takes a glance to pick out the one waiting for them. Sara also stands up to wave, making it even easier. Seung Gil recognizes Michele and Emil as the two others sitting with her. Having come this far, there’s no point in backing out now. JJ is the worst of them anyway. Seung Gil approaches the group. 

“Hi, Seung Gil. Did you sleep well?” Sara asks as soon as he’s within earshot. She smiles and keeps her voice low, minding his condition. 

“You overly concern yourself,” Seung Gil replies. The last open seat is across from Sara, so he settles into it. 

“Hey. Show some manners, punk,” Michele says, scowling from beside his sister. He makes a wounded noise when Sara jabs her elbow into his side. Emil chuckles from his spot across from Michele and nods in greeting to his new left-side neighbor. JJ pulls up a chair to sit adjacent to Seung Gil, and the expressions on the twins go sour. 

“Did you hurt anywhere when you woke up?” Sara asks Seung Gil.

“I hurt everywhere,” Seung Gil replies, sipping his tea. Two faces snap towards JJ with such hostility that Seung Gil is quick to add. “There was nothing outside the expected symptoms of a hangover.” Their behavior is perplexing. He’d assumed JJ had been exaggerating, but now it doesn’t seem so. “Why would it concern you?” 

“Why wouldn’t it concern me after seeing you pass out like that?” Sara scolds. She twirls a finger pointed to her head. “I’d have to be crazy. And—!” She jabs her finger at Seung Gil, silencing him before he can speak. “Stop telling a woman what she can do. My feelings are my own.”

“It has nothing to do with your gender—”

“ _Silenzio!_ ” Sara commands. The whole table goes quiet as everyone else pretends to be fascinated by their food. Seung Gil feels betrayed and goes rigid, feeling a ball of anxiety knots in his stomach. Sara’s violet eyes soften as she reads the tension in his shoulders. “Do you dislike me, Seung Gil?” Michele drops his soup spoon and sputters, but Sara elbows him again. 

“No,” Seung Gil replies. 

“But you dislike me getting close to you?” 

“Yes.”

“Why?” Sara asks.

“It’s useless,” Seung Gil says, plain and simple. The knot in his stomach eases at the straightforward questions. “All evidence forecasts a friendship to be strained and short-lived. A poor end result is inevitable.” 

“According to who?” Sara lifts her chin and crosses her arms. “You think too much ahead and make predictions when nothing in the future is a guarantee. You’re being _dumb_ , Seung Gil.”

“A mistake would be—”

“I don’t make mistakes when it comes to people,” Sara declares. She sets her hands on the table with finality. “Stop making weak reasons for me to run away. If something starts to choke my life, I can cut it out on my own, got it?” The intense resolve exuding from Sara is impactful, but it’s the way Michele cowers besides her that persuades Seung Gil to quickly agree. Sara’s face smooths into a satisfied smile and she turns to ask Emil about his summer in Iceland. 

Conversation wanes as everyone works through their meals, but kicks off again when Sara fetches coffee for the table. Seung Gil contributes little to the changing topics, occupied with a slice of honey cake. Nobody seems to mind his lack of words, so he relaxes. It’s a first for him. He has trouble enough with one-on-one conversations. Navigating a group discussion is something he has honest nightmares about, but without the pressure to supply a verbal quota, this isn’t too bad. When Sara leaves to get refills on coffee, Michele follows to help in an attempt to appease her. JJ gets up soon after, announcing his intent to use the restroom, leaving Seung Gil and Emil to guard the trays. Seung Gil starts on his pastila and is pleasantly surprised by the strong apple taste. He finishes half of a square before getting interrupted.

“Mickey chose this spot.”

Seung Gil lifts his eyes to the side to see Emil turned to him, face resting on a propped up arm. 

“Sara’s initial choice was the first floor,” Emil continues on with a smile, “But he said a hungover man needs quiet, not atmosphere. Even he has sense sometimes. It’s good. I like that he’s showing a rare side.” 

Seung Gil lowers his fork, sensing something off. 

“So I don’t think it’s a concern, but just to be sure…” Emil leans in closer. He maintains his amiable smile, but his eyes lose their characteristic warmth. “Don’t get too close to Mickey.” 

Even Seung Gil, with his lack of social awareness, doesn’t miss the possessive edge to the voice. He recalls the passionate rant the elder Crispino gave during their encounter before the gala. “He seems adverse to…intimate relationships.”

“I know,” Emil says, eyes bright once again, “And that’s fine. I don’t mind his likes and dislikes. Sara is a sweet girl, it’s no surprise for her to be his number one.” His laugh is light-hearted, a complete contrast to his next words. “But I’m not giving up spot number two to **anyone**.” 

Seung Gil rolls the handle of his fork between his fingers. “I bear no interest in contesting you.” 

“Then there’s no problem,” Emil says with cheer, “That’s good, I prefer to make friends.”

Seung Gil looks down at his desserts and frowns. 

“No, no. I’m being honest,” Emil assures. He leans back and throws an arm over the back of his chair. “I admire you. Maybe it’s because we’re both from less competitive countries, but I noticed you during junior years. Very impressive.” 

“You are easily impressed.”

“Seriously?” Emil exclaims, “You never finished off the podium!” 

“That was only until I turned 18 years old,” Seung Gil says. He rolls a blueberry off a fruit tart. “I never won gold anyway.” 

“There were high expectations of you this competition,” Emil says. 

Seung Gil crushes the blueberry with the tines of his fork. “I know.”

“You landed the first ratified quad loop. That’s history books. At least have an ego about it,” Emil laments. 

“You landed one too,” Seung Gil points out. 

“Oh, you saw it?” Emil says. He scratches his ear in a bashful gesture.

“The take-off and height were fine,” Seung Gil says, “But you were weak in the air and you barely managed to stay upright.” 

“Ow, how brutal.” 

“But it was a quad loop,” Seung Gil finishes. He sinks his fork into the fruit tart and breaks off a piece. “You should be able to polish it with practice. You lead too much with your shoulder. Pay more attention to the alignment of your hips. It’s a consistent flaw in your jumps.” 

“Oh! That’s great advice.” Emil looks excited. “Anything else?”

“Hey!” 

Seung Gil and Emil look behind them to see JJ standing over them, looking cross.

“Save some of that advice for me!” JJ whines, flopping into his seat.

“Maybe Seung Gil likes me better,” Emil says with a smile. JJ twitches at that, but doesn’t respond to the provocation. He just glares at the Czech, who only smiles wider.

“I’m tired,” Seung Gil interjects. Both brunettes give him their attention. Seung Gil makes eye contact with JJ, then glances back to his desserts. “So ask me next time.” 

JJ beams with happiness. “I win!” he shouts, punches both arms in the air.

“There was a whole medal ceremony, we know!” Michele snaps. He and his sister return with a tray of coffee and additives. They pass out the mugs and settle into their seats. Sara raises her drink to take the first sip, when a bubbly ringtone interrupts her. 

“Hm?” Sara reaches behind her back for her purse. She fishes out her cell phone and thumbs the screen. “Oh! Mila is out shopping,” she muses.

Seung Gil sips his milk-and-sugar sweetened drink as Sara types away on her phone. That reminds him, he hasn’t replied to his sister yet. He tucks a hand into his pocket and grasps…nothing. He pats his other pockets, finding them just as empty. He frowns and searches his coat. 

“Something up?” JJ asks, noticing the self-inspection. 

“My phone is not with me,” Seung Gil says. He thinks over the morning. He doesn’t recall seeing it on the counter or the night table. “It must still be in my suit jacket.” 

“But you didn’t have your cell phone last night,” JJ says helpfully. 

Seung Gil stares at him. “What?” 

“I had to check your pockets for your room key,” JJ explains, wagging his coffee spoon in the air. “You only had your wallet.”

“No, I had it at the banquet,” Seung Gil maintains, “I used it. I remember I…” He tries to recall and reshuffle his memories, grip tightening around his coffee mug. JJ frowns and withdraws his own phone. He accesses the dial pad and offers it Seung Gil. 

“Here, try calling,” he says. JJ wiggles his phone in the air. “Maybe someone picked it up?”

Seung Gil takes it and taps in his country code and phone number. The dial tone rings for several minutes and goes to voicemail. He tries again.

“… _Zdravstvuyte?_ ” answers a hesitant, male voice. 

Seung Gil’s stomach drops. “Hello… Do you speak English?”

“ _Ya ne ponimayu…_ ” 

Damn. 

Seung Gil wracks his brain for a solution. Perhaps a restaurant employee could be of help. He heard some of them speak English. He makes to rise out of his chair, but Emil stands first and braces a hand to the opposite arm rest, caging Seung Gil in his seat. The Czech uses Seung Gil’s shock to plucks away the cell phone and presses it to his own ear. 

“ _Dobryj den’!_ ” Emil speaks, “Um… _poteryal telefon_. _Gde eto? Izvinite. Ya plokho govoryu po-russki._ ”

Seung Gil waits with bated breath. 

“… _Spasibo!_ ” Emil says with a grin. “ _Ya znayu, ede eto. Do svidaniya!_ ” He ends the call with a thumb and slides the phone back to its owner. JJ snatches it up with a frown. “You’re lucky,” Emil says to Seung Gil, dropping back into his own chair, “A guest at the hotel found it in the hallway. He said he will drop it off at the help desk in the lobby right now.” 

“Thank you,” Seung Gil sighs. 

“I didn’t know you speak Russian,” Michele grumbles.

“I’m a man of many secrets and talents,” Emil says with a wink. 

“I can speak other languages too!” JJ boasts, not one to be outdone.  

“We all can. It’s not a contest!” Michele growls, slamming a fist on the table. 

Seung Gil busies himself stacking his plates and tidying his tray. “I’m leaving,” he declares. 

“Go ahead,” Michele says, making a dismissive motion with his hand, “Better to get those things sooner than later. Some crazy fan could get hold of it.” 

“I’ll walk you out,” JJ says, getting up. 

“Oh?” Sara says, narrowing her eyes. Her brother replicates her expression from beside her. 

“Geez, I have my own place to get to!” JJ emits a long sigh in exasperation. “Really, judging me by your low standards.”

“Get lost already!” Michele snaps. 

Goodbyes echo around the table and Sara shoos them away from their trays, saying that she can take care of clean up. The sun is still bright out when they exit into the street, making Seung Gil thankful for the borrowed sunglasses. He stands at the edge of the road and hails a taxi. It’s a popular area, so it doesn’t take long for one to pull up next to them. Seung Gil reaches up to return the sunglasses, but JJ holds up a hand, signaling him to stop.

“Nah, you need them more right now,” JJ says, shuffling his feet, “I’ve got plenty, and it’s not like we’ll never run into each other again. Return them later.” 

“Where are you going?” Seung Gil asks. 

“Sheremetyevo,” JJ says. He rocks back and forth on his heels. “My flight’s in three hours. I checked out my room and everything this morning, and my folks have my things. I’ll be meeting them there.”

“That…” Seung Gil scrunches his eyebrows. “Is a poorly thought out plan. Lingering at the hotel and then wandering in the city could skew your sense of time. You ran risk of losing syncing with your schedule.” 

“No problem. I have great faith in myself!” JJ laughs. 

“That plays no effect,” Seung Gil says, not going along with the humor, “The lunch affair was out of your way. I don’t understand what you got out of it.”

“Hm,” JJ hums. He hooks his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “I got you, didn’t I?” He freezes, remembers their last taxi-related conversation, and backtracks. “Well, it was more for my own fun than...yeah, y'kno—”

“I don’t…dislike you.” Seung Gil clears his throat and ducks into the taxi. “You’re annoying and bull-headed. I really shouldn’t tolerate you.”

“Damn. Your honesty is so charming it hurts, snowflake.”

“But you make a decent friend, I guess.” 

“Fr— _ohhhhhhh_ , I knew you had a soft spot for me!!” 

“Goodbye,” Seung Gil says, slamming the taxi door shut. He instructs the driver to drop him off at Aerostar Hotel, and ignores the exuberant laughter that trails away as the car pulls back into road. All help desk operatives of the hotel speak fluent English, and it takes less than five minutes for Seung Gil to identify himself and recover his cell phone. He checks to see if the SIM card is intact and relaxes to find everything in no worse condition than he remembers. It was fortunate that the finder was someone with good will. He turns away from the help desk to head for the elevators, but bumps shoulders with someone passing by. 

“Oh!” the girl startles. Her wheeled luggage bag bumps into her leg, causing her to stumble further. “Pardon me, I— _oh!_ ” Her eyes widen when she sees his face. Seung Gil recognizes her as part of the British ice dance team that competed and won bronze. He side steps to brush past her. “Um! I’m s-sorry about last night!”  

Seung Gil pauses and turns his head to her. “Excuse me?”

“Ah, um, s-s-see,” the ice dancer stutters. She fiddles with the luggage bag, cheeks flushing red. “I didn’t mean t-to s-s-see you and your p-partner.” She peeks up at Seung Gil and flinches. “I told no one. Nobody!” She shakes her head frantically. “I won’t reveal you. I support you! Ah, _no!_ I mean—it’s not my business, no trouble from me!” 

“What—”

His cell phone chimes, interrupting him. Seung Gil stares at the text on the screen.    

> **001-1-581-XXX-XXXX** **:** hey ❄️!! look wat i found!

“What exactly,” Seung Gil asks slowly, looking up from his phone, “Did you see?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • It’s easier to drink room temperature liquids when hungover. Water is important, but sports drinks also replenish electrolytes, and simple carbs like saltine crackers help process the remaining alcohol in your system.   
>  • Lactose intolerance and weakness to dairy are common traits amongst Asian ethnicities.   
>  • The restaurant is a place called Grabli, which has several locations in Moscow. The one mentioned here is located on Tverskaya Street.   
>  • Silenzio [Italian] - (n.) silence   
>  • Russian honey cake, or medovik, is a thin-tiered biscuit cake with real honey baked into the layers.   
>  • Pastila is a Russian sweet made from fruit, egg whites, and sugar. They look like small white squares and are popular with tea.   
>  • Kim Yuna never finished off the podium in her skating career. It’s a high achievement, so I referenced it by giving Seung Gil the same accomplishment for his junior career.   
>  • Zdravstvuyte [Russian] - (int.) hello; the formal greeting used over a phone   
>  • [Translation from Russian] Ya ne ponimayu… ⥤ I don’t understand…   
>  • I gave Emil the same language skills as Tomáš Verner, a Czech figure skater who can speak Czech, German, English, and some Russian.   
>  • [Translation from Russian] Dobryj den’! …poteryal telefon. Gde eto? Izvinite. Ya plokho govoryu po-russki. ⥤ Good afternoon! …lost phone. Where is it? Sorry. My Russian is poor.   
>  • [Translation from Russian] …Spasibo! Ya znayu, ede eto. Do svidaniya! ⥤ …Thank you! I know where that is. Goodbye!   
>  • Sheremetyevo is the international airport in Moscow, and is mentioned in the Episode 8 preview.   
>  • The number 581 is a North American area code serving the Canadian province of Quebec. [[x]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Area_codes_418_and_581)
> 
> Sorry for the long wait! It’s not to my exact liking, but here’s Chapter 5! ヾ(。＞＜)シ  
>  The time in Moscow now comes to an end, but there’s more to look forward to in the future! 
> 
> Also, I hinted it at the end of Chapter 3, but the story so far is set during the 2015-16 skating season.  
>  Since the Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang are slotted for February 2018, it’d be near impossible to avoid mention of them during the 2016-17 and 2017-18 seasons, but the only person to mention them is Min So Park during Episode 8. This struck me as odd. There also would have been a greater uproar at Viktor's departure from competition, and I don’t think Katsuki Yuuri would have been able to accept him as a coach simply due to the backlash. Poor katsudon really would have become the most hated man in the world. Who knows? Season 2 could roll out the reveal that it's the 2016-2017 season, but it just doesn't make sense to me. Plus, this gives me a longer timeline to work with, lol. ╮(￣▽￣)╭ 
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos! I got stuck on some parts this time around. I still can't decide whether to add a relationship tag for Emil and Michele? Eheh. But I persevered! Hope it was okay!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Aswium_ (아쉬움) [Korean] - (n.) wistfulness and dissatisfaction over a situation that is lacking something

Seung Gil strikes the ice with his right toe pick as his right arm swings forward. He launches off his left outside edge just before the blade could pass the pick position, and _tightens_ —arms folding to his chest and left leg crossing over right. The world is a blur as he spins. 

For a terrifying and amazing moment, he’s weightless. 

Then he is coming down on his right foot, knee bending deeply to compensate for the weight. He doesn’t stop, keeps moving his free leg, swinging it out and behind. Toe pick farther to his right this time. 

Another bare second of suspension in the air. 

The ache in his quadricep muscles and lower back is a faraway discomfort when his right skate impacts the ice. The sound is addicting to hear. Seung Gil shuffles his left blade behind him to break momentum and switches foot, gliding in a wide arch to the camera set up on the ice.

“Pack it up!”

Seung Gil looks over his shoulder to see Min So standing at the entry gate.

“You’ve been here for five hours!” she shouts. Her voice echoes across the rink.

Actually, he’s been at the Taereung Training Center for little over six hours, but Seung Gil isn’t going to correct her on that. He checks the camera to make sure the videos of his jumps are saved, and then shuts off the preview screen. He’ll review them later at home. His coach watches as he folds up the recording equipment and exits the rink. When Seung Gil shuffles to the bench where his bags lays, she follows and stands by.

“You’ve been doing more jump combinations during self-practice,” Min So muses as Seung Gil changes into sneakers. She tucks a hand under her chin.  “Any particular reason for it?” 

“I’m perfecting them,” Seung Gil says. He upturns a skate and slides a hand into the boot. There’s water and snow stuck to the blade when he removes the skate guard. “I can’t improve otherwise.” 

“I understand, but don’t push your body like a madman. You could sustain an injury.” 

“I’m careful.” Seung Gil wipes the blade down with a towel, then repeats the treatment to its pair. “I just…I want to do this.” He runs the towel along the hollow of the blade, checking the edges for nicks. “I need to.” 

Min So stays quiet as he finishes drying his skates. Curious at her silence, Seung Gil glances up to verify that his coach is still there, though she looks oddly thoughtful. They make eye contact and her mouth tilts into a half-smile. 

“Well, keep doing whatever you’ve been up to these past weeks. Your landings improved again. I can’t credit that to our lessons since we haven’t changed the techniques, so it must something in your lifestyle.” Her almost smile extends into a smirk. “Not surprising since you’re still young.” 

Seung Gil lowers his skate, resting it against his knee. “Was there a problem with my age?” he asks in confusion. Min So begins to reply, but a ring from his bag interrupts her. Seung Gil picks up his cell phone, finding two notifications on his lock screen.   

> **Sara Crispino**  
>  매시지
> 
> **누나**  
>  매시지

He hovers a thumb over the screen, then realizes how rude it is to ignore his coach. He raises his head to apologize, only to see Min So looking more amused than offended. 

“Shower and get going,” she instructs as she walks away, “I’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy what’s left of your Friday.” 

“Mm,” Seung Gil hums, inclining his head. His evening plans are to watch the first day performances of the Grand Prix Final. He knows that the average person wouldn’t consider that exciting, but he’s looking forward to them. The time zone difference between Seoul and Barcelona makes it impossible to livestream the events without disrupting his morning schedule, so he’s been avoiding the news media until he could watch the recording himself. Seung Gil looks at his cell phone again and swipes over the message alert from his sister. A photo of a white pit bull loads onto the screen with a line of text.    

> **누나:** 우리 하루랑 같아! ^^

Looking at the photo, he sees what she means. The dog has heterochromia, left side brown and right side blue, just like Haru. He huffs and goes through his photo library to select the one he took last night. The image shows Haru lying flat on her favorite sofa, nose tucked between her paws as her as she peers up at the camera. Seung Gil adds “ _Haru is better_ ” to his reply, and then checks the message from Sara.      


> **Sara** : Getting ready to start practice. Wish me good luck! ⛸️✨

Seung Gil sighs in exasperation and sends a quick “ _No_ ”. He finishes packing away his camera when his phone rings again.    

> **Sara:** What?! WHY?!!

Another bubble of text appears soon after.      


> **Sara:** And you didn’t reply yesterday… 

He frowns, remembering how he’d tossed his phone after receiving her last texts. She’s right, he hadn’t bothered to reply. Should that really be her concern though? He begins typing.       


> Shouldn’t you practice?
> 
> **Sara:** Don’t change the topic!!
> 
> It was your topic.
> 
> **Sara:** NOT THE POINT
> 
> **Sara:** The ladies SP is TODAY!!
> 
> **Sara:** I just want encouragement!
> 
> You have made the same request 17 times now within the past 24 hours.
> 
> It’s redundant and tiresome.
> 
> **Sara:** Did you…really count them?
> 
> **Sara:** …
> 
> **Sara:** Okay okay 
> 
> **Sara:** I did too much…
> 
> **Sara:** It’s really hard to calm down!! 
> 
> Use that energy to prepare yourself instead of bothering me.
> 
> **Sara:** It’s not that easy 
> 
> **Sara:** I want to see Mickey…
> 
> Then go see him.
> 
> **Sara:** It’s embarrassing to ask him for help now!!
> 
> **Sara:** I said a big speech about becoming independent!
> 
> **Sara:** I will look like a hypocrite…
> 
> No matter how independent you become, it’s natural to depend on an older sibling.
> 
> It is fine to seek him out when you need it.
> 
> **Sara:** Do you really think so??
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Now stop messaging me.
> 
> **Sara:** Wow
> 
> **Sara:** You switched so quickly
> 
> Go bother your brother.
> 
> **Sara:** Okay okay
> 
> **Sara:** …It’s really okay, right?
> 
> Yes.
> 
> **Sara:** I won’t seem needy?
> 
> Yes.
> 
> **Sara:** Are you really really sure?

This is ridiculous.

Seung Gil swipes out of the chat to scroll through his contacts.          


> **Sara:** …?
> 
> **Sara:** Seung Gil?
> 
> I messaged your brother.
> 
> **Sara:** WHAT
> 
> He is on his way to you.
> 
> **Sara:** WHY DID YOU DO THAT
> 
> Good luck.

Tucking his phone into a pocket, Seung Gil finishes cleaning his skates and zips them into their bag. It takes a couple more minutes to put away his camera, but with all of his belongings finally packed away, the only thing left to do is shower. He cleans up quickly, minding the bus schedule, and hurries out of the facility, cutting the most direct route to the bus stop. It always takes a transfer to a second bus line for him to reach his neighborhood, but he doesn’t mind the long commute. It gives him time to think. Seung Gil settles in for the ride as he untangles his earphones, and sends a quick text to his family before selecting a music playlist. He always lets them know when he’s on his way home from practice, so composing the message feels natural. He’s used to this, unlike text conversations with strangers. 

Seung Gil pauses his line of thought. 

Friends. He’s not used to text conversations with friends. And they were _conversations_. Despite the time zone differences, there were times when JJ and Sara caught his messages as soon as he’d sent them, leading to a back-and-forth that covered trivial topics. They asked about his dog. He learned that JJ does volunteer work at an animal shelter. Sara wants to see a live k-pop concert, and swore to have him try authentic carbonara one day. JJ insists that the grade of maple syrup is very important. Sara sends photos of desserts. JJ tried to send the lyrics of _Theme of King JJ_ composed entirely in emojis, and had to apologize for two days before Seung Gil replied to his messages again. It caught him by surprise— _still_ catches him by surprise—but the casual exchanges are pleasant and easy. 

Well, at least until recently. 

He hadn’t expected Sara to use texting as a coping mechanism for her nerves. If he’d known about it before getting cornered by the Crispinos at Sheremetyevo airport, he wouldn’t have surrendered his phone number so easily. Good thing there was an easy solution. It’s too bad JJ can’t be handled so simply. 

Seung Gil’s original assessment of JJ as a nuisance still proves correct, but the cause for it is different from what he imagined. Despite acting like a self-important celebrity, JJ is earnest. Too earnest. Exhaustingly so. 

Just remembering the mess with the British ice dancer is enough to cause Seung Gil a headache. Her recount of them “getting off” in the hotel corridor had been ridiculous, but Seung Gil recognized the danger of such a story. The press goes berserk for scandals, and despite her promise, he doubted the girl’s ability to refrain from gossip. She confessed to him in the middle of the lobby, after all. Being as drunk as he’d been though, Seung Gil had no way to deny what she’d seen without JJ. So he called him. A few words over the phone would disprove the story without hassle, or so he’d thought.

Seung Gil initially thought it was a joke when JJ said that he’d return to the hotel, but the Canadian skater kept insisting that it was “JJ Style” to testify in person. The longer JJ spoke, the greater Seung Gil’s horror grew as he realized that JJ seriously meant to ditch his flight. 

The flight that was departing from an international airport.

The airport that was packed with figure skating fans.

Fans who all had phone cameras and access to Internet.

The Internet, where **netizens** lurk like _sharks_. 

It took many repetitions of “don’t”, several strong words, the intervention of JJ’s parents, and a thinly veiled threat to rescind their friendship for JJ to finally listen to Seung Gil’s original request for an over-the-phone explanation. He wonders how JJ’s fiancé deals with him. She must have a method that works. Would that qualify as an appropriate question? JJ’s last text mentioned introducing the two to each other, but the notion makes Seung Gil feel uneasy. He doesn’t have a good record of first impressions. It’s a relief that JJ hasn’t messaged him since then to push the idea. The Grand Prix finalist must be busy catering to his fans. There are many of them, if _#grandprixfinal_ on Instagram was anything to go by. 

The street is empty when Seung Gil gets off at his final stop, as it often is on a Friday night. The neighborhood is far from the nightlife scene. Seung Gil sighs, taking in the quiet, and starts the trek home. The path curves as it winds uphill, making it’s impossible to see farther than the next bend, but he knows that his grandmother and Haru are at the usual spot. As he rounds the third twist in the road, he sees them sitting at their landmark bench, waiting for his arrival.

Haru jumps to attention as soon as she sees him, pulling her leash taunt as she wiggles to get closer. She woos, miffed and impatient, when Seung Gil stops just short of her reach. Seung Gil’s grandmother laughs and releases her hold on the leash, letting the 22-kilogram Siberian Husky loose to leap onto her grandson. 

“Good job today, Seung Gil,” she says with a smile. It’s her everyday greeting that never wears out. His grandmother looks small in her thick winter coat. The neighborhood is safe, but Seung Gil’s grateful that she always brings Haru with her. 

“Thank you, Grandma,” Seung Gil manages through the assault of kisses from his dog. He gets Haru to sit on her haunches and grabs her leash. When his grandmother shifts to stand, he steadies her by the elbow and offers his arm. She smiles as she hooks her arm through his. 

“Did practice go well today?” she asks as they walk.

“Yes,” Seung Gil replies. He sets a slow and easy pace. “My skating has gotten smoother, and I haven’t been missing my landings.”

“That’s wonderful!” She looks at her grandson with fondness. “Oh, I’m so excited for the Nationals. I finally get to watch in person. Waiting for a month is so difficult.” 

“I won’t let you down,” Seung Gil says.

“You never do,” his grandmother replies, patting his arm, “It warms me to see you and Seung Mi doing things you love.”

He and his sister are completely different though. Seung Gil adjusts his grip on Haru’s leash.

“How was your day?” Seung Gil asks, changing the topic, “Did you watch a new episode?” 

“Oh, there’s one playing tonight! The heroine is such a bland character, but the main love interest is so—!” Seung Gil listens to her raves and grievances for the rest of the walk, knowing better than to question the bizarre storyline and “love” polygons. From what he can gleam, his grandmother’s current favorite contains a pentagon and bisected triangle. Haru yips as they enter the house, announcing their arrival to all inhabitants. 

“I’m home,” Seung Gil calls out as he toes off his shoes. 

“Welcome home!” His mother’s voice carries from the kitchen. “Excellent timing, Seung Gil. Come sit! Dinner is ready.” 

“I should change my clothes,” Seung Gil says as he reaches for the box of wet wipes in the entryway. He cleans Haru’s paws before unclipping her leash. 

“No, no,” his mother chides, “The food will get cold! It’s best to eat now than to reheat it later. I made galbitang!” 

“Okay,” Seung Gil replies. He sets his bags beside the coat closet and slips into a pair of house slippers. Haru follows him to the dining table, tail wagging at the smell of food. 

“Oh, you,” Seung Gil’s mother says upon seeing the pair. She moves between the table and the kitchen, setting up three placements. “I already fed you the scraps, such a glutton. No more. If you get any fatter, you won’t fit in your bed!” 

Haru whines and sends Seung Gil a plaintive look. 

“You’ve been getting fat,” Seung Gil agrees as he takes a seat. He glances at the empty space at the head of the table. “Dad’s working late tonight?” 

“As usual,” his mother sighs. She folds away her apron and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Seung Gil is often told that he resembles her, sharing her fair skin and petite face. He’s not so sure. His mother exudes a kind and gentle nature, which he certainly doesn’t do. 

“Well, he’s missing out then. More for me,” his grandmother cheers as she tastes the broth, “That boy should treasure you more, my dear. This is delicious.” 

“I feel very treasured,” his mother giggles as she takes her seat, “But thank you, _eomeonim_.”

Seung Gil always likes the food his mother makes, although he wishes she hadn’t added extra scallions to his serving. He stealthily tries to drown them to the bottom of the bowl. 

“Seung Gil.” 

Damn.

He looks up and meets his mother’s eyes. 

“Don’t ignore the side dishes,” she says, using her chopsticks to pile kimchi and beansprouts over his rice. 

“…Okay.”

“You have to eat well with all the exercise you’re doing!” 

“…Right.”

His grandmother chuckles as Seung Gil soldiers through dinner. When the meal is done, he helps clear the table and then heads to his room, grabbing his bags on the way. After changing into a set of house clothes, he snatches up his laptop and returns downstairs. Haru spins in excitement when she sees him with the laptop. She rushes ahead of him to the reading room and woos when Seung Gil takes his time getting there. 

“You’re too impatient,” Seung Gil teases. The room is in a quiet section of the house and has large windows along two walls, making it an ideal place to relax or read. With the former in mind, the color scheme is dominated by earthy greens and browns, creating a soothing atmosphere. The room is Haru’s favorite, since its tufted sofa is large enough to accommodate both her and a cuddle buddy. Seung Gil likes the room too, and always watches competition videos here. He settles in the middle of the sofa and sets up his laptop. Haru is quick to join him and rests her head against his leg, nosing his hand for scratches. Seung Gil obliges while the video loads.

“It’s the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona,” he explains to her. Haru blinks up at him and whines. “Yeah, the one I didn’t make.” Haru sets a paw on his lap and licks his chin. “Thanks, well…thanks.” Seung Gil scratches behind her ears and brushes a hand over her back. He relaxes his back into the cushions and watches as the opening ceremony begins. 

The first day of the Final has two events—the pairs’ and men’s short programs. Seung Gil recognizes one of the finalists as the Chinese pair team from the Rostelecom Cup. Watching the pairs teams on the ice reminds him of past practices. There are only a handful of male figures skaters in South Korea, so his first coach often called him do pair practice with the girls. It had been interesting, but not to his taste. It’s the special selfishness of a single skater, not wanting to share the ice. Besides, partner skating requires chemistry, which was always lacking for him. The girls whined too readily and said things that always grated his nerves. His sister always laughed when he had complained about them. 

Seung Gil sits up straighter when the men’s short program begins, kicking off with Katsuki Yuuri. The Japanese man looks tense, but not nervous. There’s an aggressive edge to his skating that wasn’t there before. Triple Axel from spread eagle, quad Salchow-triple toe, and quad flip. Unfortunately, the last jump has a one-hand touch on ice. The flaw breaks his trend of achieving a new personal best. Yuuri looks devastated, but it’s not the heartbroken despair from last year. He looks angry. 

The music for Phichit’s short program is catchy. It suits him well, and Seung Gil isn’t surprised when the audience begins to clap along. The Thai skater’s greatest weapon has always been his natural charm. Triple Axel, triple Lutz-triple toe, and quad toe. There’s only one quad jump in his repertoire, but Phichit shows excellent footwork and artistry. His light-hearted style is the same as it was years ago. It’s refreshing to see a performance like that at the finals. 

Yuri Plisetsky starts his skate with the same roughness from the Rostelecom Cup, but something changes halfway through his program. His movements gain a grace that reflects the musical theme. Triple Axel, quad Salchow-triple toe, and quad toe. All of them are tano jumps. The score reveals itself as a new personal best **and** new world record. Seung Gil was right about the kid being a monster. He wonders about the consecutive tano jumps though. They were impressive, but repetitive, and could detract points in choreography with overuse. The coaches are probably well aware of that and planning accordingly. 

No skater uses as much sexual expression as Christophe Giacometti does. As the oldest competitor in the finals, his maturity really shows in his skate. Quad Lutz, triple Axel, and a quad flip-triple toe. The last quad is under-rotated, but all other elements are flawless. His transitions are smooth, almost effortless. There must be a lot of pressure on him this season. With Viktor sidelined as a coach and Cao Bin’s retirement, Chris is steadily losing his peers in the sport. 

Otabek Altin is interesting. In contrast to the playful performances preceding his, the Kazakh skater is straight-forward and dignified. Quad toe-triple toe, triple Axel, and quad Salchow. No hesitation in any of his jumps. His form is less flexible than the others, but he has a commanding presence. Perhaps Emil was right that one time. Seung Gil can’t help but admire another skater that made the best of what his country offered in figure skating. 

Haru perks up when the final skater is announced, curious at the sudden increase in audience volume. Seung Gil expects the exuberance this time, but still snorts when a middle-aged fan races across the screen with a giant Canadian flag. JJ, standing center ice, basks in the cheers before beginning his program. Quad toe…? Seung Gil frowns. He remembers the first jump being a combination in Moscow. Had JJ moved it to the second half for a higher score? JJ’s expression looks strained and alarm shoots through Seung Gil’s body. A…single Axel and…a single Lutz. 

Haru whines when Seung Gil’s hand goes still on her head. The sound jars him out of his daze and Seung Gil’s eyes fall to his cell phone beside him. 

The men’s short program happened December 10th in Barcelona, roughly 10 o’clock at night. That was 6 in the morning in Seoul, today. 

No wonder JJ hasn’t texted him since. 

Haru noses his stomach and ruffs in concern. 

“I’m fine,” Seung Gil assures. He continues watching the video, but it’s odd. Even after he exits the browser and begins reviewing his practice videos, his attention keeps returning to his phone. He tucks it underneath a cushion to avoid further distraction, which helps some, but the strange unease persists. When later getting ready for bed, Seung Gil finally gives in and flicks to his messaging app. There aren’t any new messages, but he wasn’t expecting any. He accesses the chatroom with JJ and then hesitates. He’s only sent replies until now. How was he supposed to start?

He stares at the blinking text cursor in uncertainty. It’s been hours since the men’s short program. JJ has his parents and fiancé with him for support anyway. And there’s still the free skate. Causing a distraction could be bad. They’re not even that close, so what good would a message do? 

Seung Gil exits the app and goes to bed, telling himself to remove his concern. He tells himself again the next morning while on his way to the rink, and three times more during his off-ice calisthenics. The bothered feeling is annoyingly persistent. It’s a relief when Seung Gil finally puts on his skates, leaving his troubled thoughts with his sneakers. 

Maybe it’s the echo in the rink or the expanse of white, but there is an incredible feeling of _space_ when he’s on the ice. He can glide, jump, and fly as he pleases. Nothing can touch him. He’s the center of his own world—powerful, proud, and in control. He never gets tired of it. 

“Good morning,” Min So says, joining him on the ice. Her hair is tied into a bun and she is dressed in a warmer set of sportswear than his own. 

“Good morning,” Seung Gil returns, sliding to a stop. They run through his programs and each individual skating element for the first half of their private session, and then concentrate on his steps and spins for the remaining time.   

“You’ve gotten faster,” Min So remarks as Seung Gil comes out of a combination spin,” Take count so that you don’t loose sync with the music.” 

Seung Gil takes deep breaths, winded from the exercise. “I want more rotations to raise the GOE.”

“Well, we have about 10 weeks until the Four Continents Championship. That’s plenty of time to—”

“No,” Seung Gil says, “I want to be ready by the National Championship.”

“The _Nationals_?” Min So repeats, incredulous, “That’s in less than a month. This isn’t Russia or Japan. Your spins are fine as they are.”

“I can do that much by Nationals,” Seung Gil insists. He meets her eyes with determination. “I **know** it.” 

“You did your math, hm?” Min So sighs. She considers her stubborn student thoughtfully. “Show me.” 

Seung Gil’s legs feel like jelly by the end of the session, but it’s worth it when his coach agrees to help him modify the spins in his programs. After changing into sneakers, he drops off his skates to get sharpened. Professionals come in every Saturday to offer their services to the winter athletes in the facility. It’s convenient, but also requires good timing, since orders stack up quickly. The wait time can be anywhere between thirty minutes to two hours. 

Seung Gil checks the time and verifies that he has an hour until his physical therapy. He heads for a small lounge near the appointment location. It contains a short table, two chairs, and a couch. There’s another lounge elsewhere that provides refreshments and more space, but he prefers this one. It’s quiet here, and he needs to rest before meeting his therapist. Seung Gil drops onto one end of the couch, dragging a gulp from the water bottle he’d gotten after practice. He secures his earphones and sets an alarm on his phone, then slouches into the couch for a nap. He dozes for a while, but then stirs awake to the sound of the lounge door creaking open and shut. 

There are voices. Seung Gil keeps a schedule of early practices and afternoon classes, so he’s rarely around other athletes in the facility. Still, he recognizes the voices as belonging to older students of his sport. He doesn’t stir, hoping they’ll just pass him by, but the voices draw closer until they’re right behind him. There’s a thud as someone leans against the back of the couch. Seung Gil sighs and gathers his intent to leave, but the sound of his breath draws attention.  

“Fuck!” someone hisses. There’s a squeak of shoes as the weight against the couch disappears. “I didn’t see him!”

“You’re so slow to not notice,” snickers a second person. That one’s been keeping his voice low the whole time. Seung Gil wonders why the guy hadn’t spoken up earlier. 

“Feel like I almost woke up a demon,” whispers the first voice. 

“Demon, ha!” The second guy chuckles. “That suits him better than _prince_.” 

Ah. So it’s like that. 

“Don’t remind me,” groans the first voice, “That Snow Prince shit gets on my nerves.” 

“He doesn’t seem to let it get to his head,” says a third voice. He sounds hesitant about the new turn in topic.  

“Probably thinks he’s better than us,” snorts the first guy.

“He…kind of _is_ though.” The third person’s words are tinged with envy. 

“Not good enough though,” the second voice speaks again. “All that talk during his junior years and look where he is.”

“Hey, a lot of the kids are full of talk,” chimes in the first person. He snickers. “Did you watch the Grand Prix Final? The Canadian idiot’s freak out was amazing. After all hype about winning gold. Full of hot air, what a damn clown.” 

_Crkkk!_

The three skaters startle at the sound of the water bottle crackling in Seung Gil’s grip. He tilts it, finishing the last of the water, and stands to throw the plastic away. His seniors watch him with wide eyes as he cross the room. 

“…Do you think he heard us?” whispers one of them. The other two don’t answer him. 

Seung Gil shuffles to the door and pauses on his way out. He looks over his shoulder at the trio. “If you don’t wish to be heard”—the three people flinch—“then you shouldn’t speak.” 

“D-don’t talk to your _sunbae_ like that!” scolds second guy, offended. 

“Do we have that relationship?” Seung Gil asks, “I don’t think there is anything valuable I could learn from you.” 

“You—!” 

Seung Gil lets the door shut behind him and walks away. There’s not enough time to resume his sleep, so he heads early to his appointment in a swift stride. The encounter did the disservice of both irritating him and reawakening his unsettled emotions. His physical therapist greets him with concern when he storms in, but Seung Gil assures that he’s fine. They go through the exercises without trouble, but he grows frustrated with the nagging feeling in his chest. There are a few hours before his dance lesson. He hurries to pick up his skates and then rushes to the rink. 

A waltz jump.

A double toe loop.

A one-foot Axel. 

A double flip.

A triple Salchow. 

A triple loop-triple toe.

A quad toe loop.

A 3 turn into a triple Lutz-triple toe. 

A triple loop-single toe-double toe.

A triple flip-double toe-double loop.

A spread eagle into a double Axel-double toe.

A quad loop.

Seung Gil tries to physically exhaust the agitation, but it remains no lesser than it was before. He exits the rink in frustration, passing a pair of gawking children on the way to the locker room. Mi So intercepts his before he reaches the door. 

“First. What’s going on with you?” she demands. 

“I…excuse me?” Seung Gil is taken aback by the fierce delivery of her question. 

“You always use a method for self-practice,” his coach says. Her eyes narrow. “You showed none of that just now.”

Seung Gil thinks about his hasty actions and feels sheepish. “…I’m having an odd day.” 

His coach studies him, looking over his face and posture. The frown on her face deepens. “What was your physical assessment today?”

“No different,” Seung Gil replies, “My body is fine. I’ll work on my mental focus.” Judging by her unrelieved expression, that wasn’t the answer that his coach wanted, but she doesn’t pursue the matter further. 

“Then second,” Min So says, “Since when did your stamina get that good?” 

“Sometime over the last few months.” Seung Gil takes a moment to think what factors contributed to the change. “I’ve been practicing combination variations and learning to follow in my supplementary lessons.”

“You mean the ballroom dancing,” his coach says. She looks puzzled, but steps aside. “I won’t keep you when I know you’re on a schedule. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Seung Gil nods and enters the locker room. He wonders what else his coach has to say, but it’s more important that he doesn’t miss the bus. It’d be rude to be late when he was the one who requested the lessons in the first place. 

The ballroom dancing had started on a fluke back in June. 

An old, unpopular gymnasium sits in the outskirts of his school’s campus. It contains a mirrored studio, which Seung Gil had quietly used for the past few years. Spacious and quiet, it is well suited for off-ice training and closer than the Taereung Training Center. The convenience saved him considerable practice time. He always visited the studio after he finished classes for the day, but entered the room one afternoon to find a social dance class in session. He’d turned to retreat, but a student caught him by the arm as a partner and dragged him into the class. 

Seung Gil had been annoyed and ready to escape as soon as able, but as the lesson progressed, he realized the potential benefits it could add to his skating. He knew that his movements and musicality were lacking. He’d tried ballet, but it didn’t solve the problem. Somehow, he got the feeling that this would. He ended up staying for the whole class and approached the instructor afterwards. He learned that her name is Anita, and she is in Seoul as part of an international teaching program. Everything she knows about dance was taught to her by her parents, who were United States champions in rhythm dance. She’d won several junior competitions herself, but decided to pursue a career as a school teacher instead. The chance was too good and he asked for private lessons. Anita had been hesitate, but agreed after hearing him out. His skating became better for trouble. His steps and movements have a whole new quality to them, and his flexibility increased as well. 

He arrives to the lesson on time. Anita reviews the cha cha and mambo with him. She’s a tall, broad woman and has no trouble guiding him through the walks and figures. Following is different from leading. While leading allows him to command the dance and make it his own, following demands more expression and sensibility. 

“And that’s what you want, right?” Anita had said after she proposed the idea of learning both partner roles, “You want to seduce the audience.” 

Not really, but he supposed it was worth a try. He thought it would be easy. 

He was abysmal. Anita laughed and said it was due to his natural stubbornness. If anything, that just made Seung Gil determined to get better. It took time and dancing backwards was more draining than expected, but he improved. 

Today isn’t a good day though. Seung Gil keeps losing sync with the beat and falling out of the partner hold. Anita ends their lesson within the first half hour. 

“You’re distracted and we’re not getting anywhere,” she says as she shuts off the sound speakers, “We can make up the time in our next lesson, so go home, okay?” 

“I’ll use the studio to practi—“ 

“Go **home** , kiddo. Dancing reflects the mind, and yours is a mess. Take care of it first. And get some new shoes. You’ve worn the soles out.” 

He’d argued, of course, but Anita had no qualms about calling security on him. Seung Gil can’t remember the last time he’d come home so early, and his grandmother seems to have the same thought. Her face is smiling, but worried when he comes around the bend in the road. 

“Good job today, Seung Gil.”

“Thank you.” Seung Gil takes Haru’s leash from his grandmother’s hand and rubs her cold fingers. “Grandma, you should wear a gloves now. The nights are getting cold.” 

“I don’t like how slippery they feel,” she complains, “Besides, I have Haru to keep me warm!” His grandmother pats the dog’s thick fur to prove her point. She laughs when Haru woos as if in agreement. The inquiries about his day come as they usually do, but his listless replies cause his grandmother’s smile to fade. 

“What’s on your mind?” she asks in a gentle tone. 

“It’s nothing,” Seung Gil insists. 

“It can’t be nothing when you look so troubled,” she insists, “Did something happen today?”

“No, just…” Seung Gil means to dismiss the question again, but the tender concern in his grandmother’s eyes makes guilt pool in his stomach. “Someone I know was upset. I can’t do anything about it and he’s probably fine anyway, but I keep thinking about it.”

“Oh?” His grandmother’s voice rises to a conspiratorial tone. “A boy?”

Seung Gil coughs before answering. “He’s just a figure skater. The Canadian one that…does the fingers thing.”

“Oh!” Her face lights up in recognition and she pats her grandson’s arm. “The boy with the thick body. He’s handsome. Good for you.” 

“Grandma, he has a fiancé.” 

“Oh my.” She presses a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. “How bold of you.”

“ _Grandma_.”

She laughs at the grimace of horror and mortification on her grandson’s face. “Alright, alright. So you’re worried about your friend. Nothing wrong with that.” 

“But it’s _stupid_ ,” Seung Gil says. The distress in his voice causes Haru to glance back at them. “It’s a waste. Worrying won’t help him or benefit me in any way. Whatever happens in the free skate won’t be due to me.” He scoffs. “I’m not that important.” 

“Seung Gil.” The weight in his grandmother’s tone surprises him. “Don’t ever say that you are not important.” 

“I meant the useless—”

“Your feelings are a part of you.” She fixes him with a stern look that is too much like his father’s. “You shouldn’t treat yourself like that. There are times when the heart will disagree with the mind, but ignoring your feelings altogether is destructive.” 

Seung Gil looks away, uncomfortable. 

“And I’m sure,” she continues, “That despite what you think, your friend considers you important too. He makes you quite happy.”

“He what?” Seung Gil says, bewildered. 

“Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed,” his grandmother teases, “You’ve been using your phone more often, and smiling at it too.”

“That…” Seung Gil fidgets with the leash in his hand. “I didn’t know that I…”

His grandmother giggles as he fumbles for words. “Even if you think that it’s stupid, try telling him that you’re worried.” She squeezes his arm in reassurance.  “It’s better than the regret of doing nothing.” 

Is that what he is feeling?

Seung Gil spends the rest of the evening in a daze. His grandmother’s words stays with him, putting things in a new perspective. If he stops a moment to just feel it out, the tugging sensation in his chest has an absent quality to it. Regret from inaction? He can’t recall ever experiencing such a thing before. How long does it last for? Could he wait it out? Seung Gil imagines the feeling fading into nothing with time. The outcome feels unsatisfying. It’s not as strong, but now that he’s studying it, what he’s feeling now is vaguely similar to failure. What happens when a person fails to act after failure? Negligence to that extent…the idea pisses him off. He hasn’t achieved what he’s accomplished until now by being careless. 

Before starting the video for the Final’s second day—just the ladies’ short program this time—Seung Gil comes to a decision. Haru watches with curiosity as her human sets aside his laptop to fiddle with his phone. She noses his arm for pats, but he gently nudges her snout away. Before he could lose his nerve, Seung Gil taps out a message and hits send. He starts a new line of text, but is interrupted by an immediate reply.       


> I saw your SP.
> 
> **JJ:** oh

Well, there was no backing out now. Seung Gil continues typing. 

> You skated like you were ill.
> 
> **JJ:** wow thx man…
> 
> Are you ill?
> 
> **JJ:** NO 
> 
> **JJ:** i’m not 
> 
> **JJ:** ihave no excuse i fell to pressure lik a newbie
> 
> **JJ:** wait fuck
> 
> **JJ:** sorry
> 
> **JJ:** don’t take that the wrong way
> 
> I take no offense to it.
> 
> **JJ:** still it was a shit thing to say
> 
> **JJ:** my head’s not on right
> 
> I suppose it wouldn’t be after a performance like that.
> 
> **JJ:** i feel lik a joke now
> 
> That’s understandable.
> 
> **JJ:** wat should i do?

Seung Gil’s face furrows in puzzlement.    

> What do you mean?
> 
> **JJ:** i dunno wat to do
> 
> You skate.
> 
> **JJ:** i forgot how
> 
> That is impossible.
> 
> **JJ:** i thot flubbing all my jumps was impossible
> 
> **JJ:** nvm
> 
> “nvm”?
> 
> **JJ:** *nevermind
> 
> **JJ:** ignore that
> 
> **JJ:** thanks for checking in on me
> 
> What are you telling me to ignore?
> 
> **JJ:** …everything i guess

This is…         


> Your SP was not the climax of your career.
> 
> **JJ:** but it wasn’t supposed to happen like that
> 
> **JJ:** i made so many promises and i broke them
> 
> **JJ:** everyone says it’s fine but i know it isn’t
> 
> **JJ:** i don’t deserve to be here

This is **bullshit**.    

> Don’t be an idiot and sabotage your FS with clumsy emotions.
> 
> **JJ:** i got here thanks to my parents and fans
> 
> **JJ:** clumsy, right…guess my luck caught up to me
> 
> No.
> 
> You got this far based on skill, not dumb luck.
> 
> The person you’ve disappointed the most is yourself, because you are the one who put the most work into getting this far.
> 
>  Counterbalance your disappointment with your ego.
> 
> **JJ:** …my ego? ha 
> 
> **JJ:** i’m not feeling it right now
> 
> Then go listen to your theme song until you do.
> 
> It goes on and on about how you’ll overcome any ordeal that comes your way.
> 
> **JJ:** that song…
> 
> **JJ:** i wrote it while imagining my ideal self
> 
> **JJ:** i thought i could be that person this season
> 
> There is no reason for you to stop trying.
> 
> You keep calling yourself a king.
> 
> Every great king in history gained prestige after overcoming adversity.
> 
> You have the chance to create your history every time you skate.
> 
> Use your FS to overwrite your SP.
> 
> **JJ:** no way it can be that simple
> 
> I didn’t say it would be simple.
> 
> You’re not always going to feel good about it, but you worked this hard already.
> 
> How much time did you put in?
> 
> What number of years?
> 
> What number of hours?
> 
> **JJ:** how do you expect me to count that high?
> 
> How can you contemplate failure before even trying?
> 
> **JJ:** …you’re right
> 
> **JJ:** i can’t go into my FS like this
> 
> **JJ:** even if i feel down, i can’t do a disservice like that to myself
> 
> Finally got your head right.
> 
> **JJ:** lol
> 
> **JJ:** it must be annoying to pep talk me
> 
> Consider it as my thanks.
> 
> **JJ:** for what?
> 
> For helping me.
> 
> **JJ:** with what??
> 
> **JJ:** oh
> 
> **JJ:** oh okay
> 
> **JJ:** it’s nothing you owe me for. i would do it again.
> 
> I know that you probably would.
> 
> **JJ:** which means you’re wrong!
> 
> Nothing I said was incorrect or out of pity.
> 
> **JJ:** nooooo not that 
> 
> Explain.
> 
> **JJ:** you’re not feeling obligated! 
> 
> **JJ:** you’re doing this with ✨KINDNESS✨
> 
> You should know that I wouldn’t bother if I hated you.
> 
> **JJ:** woah i’m swooning lolol
> 
> **JJ:** but seriously thanks
> 
> **JJ:** i still don’t feel so good but you helped me and made me remember why i’m doing this
> 
> **JJ:** i just need to decide now…what to do…
> 
> **JJ:** even if it’s selfish i don’t want to leave things like this
> 
> Well.
> 
> When you don’t know what to do, a surprise is always something to consider.
> 
> **JJ:** do you like surprises?
> 
> No, but they’re your speciality, not mine.
> 
> **JJ:** lolol
> 
> **JJ:** i’ll prepare a surprise just for you then!!
> 
> You don’t have to do that.
> 
> **JJ:** but i want to~~
> 
> **JJ:** ah i’m getting a phone call
> 
> **JJ:** ttyl
> 
> **JJ:** *talk to you later
> 
> Good-bye.
> 
> **JJ:**  it's night there right?
> 
> **JJ:** goodnight!

Seung Gil yelps when his phone is knocked out of his hands. Annoyed at being ignored, Haru headbutts her way into his space and stubbornly takes residence on Seung Gil’s lap. 

“I didn’t forget about you,” Seung Gil says. He rubs her fur until she emits content woofs. The cute sounds make him smile, and he settles in the watch Grand Prix Final as he’d intended. Sara does well, not showing any of the hesitation from her texts, and flawlessly executes her triple Lutz-triple loop specialty. Perhaps she and Mila Babacheva will make the podium this year. The latter has an exceptional short program that places her second to the lead. He contemplates sending Sara a message, but decides to avoid the potential danger of reawakening her texting habit. 

When the video ends, he shuts the laptop and returns to his room to study. The final exams are coming up. He already understands the material, but it wouldn’t do to get lazy. He reviews numerical methods for the night, solving two-point value problems and linear systems. His mind feels sharp and he speeds through the formulas with ease. Seung Gil catches himself humming the melody of  _Pavane pour une infante défunte_. He stops and seesaws the pencil between his fingers. 

It's odd and only a gut feeling, but he feels good about practice tomorrow. Maybe his quad-triple combinations will finally land clean. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Seung Gil’s executed jump combination is a triple Lutz-triple toe.   
>  • The Taereung Training Center is the only national athletic training center in South Korea, and is located in Seoul. It served as the training location for many Korean figure skaters.   
>  • [Translation from Korean] 누나 ⥤ Big Sister   
>  • [Translation from Korean] 매시지 ⥤ Message   
>  • [Translation from Korean] 누나: 우리 하루랑 같아! ^^ ⥤ Big Sister: Looks like our Haru! ^^   
>  • Less climactic than the American-English version, “getting off” in British slang means kissing and heavy petting.   
>  • Netizens are “citizens of the Internet”, or simply people who use the Internet. In South Korea, they have a reputation for affecting public opinion and exacaberating real-world controversies, sometimes out of control.   
>  • Seung Gil’s grandmother is watching a Korean drama called “My Daughter, Geum Sa Wol”. Along with the love pentagon and bisected triangle, there are two families raising non-biological children, the mistaken identity of a secret love-child, several murder attempts, and the arson of an orphanage.   
>  • Galbitang is Korean short rib stew, and traditionally also contains radish and scallions.   
>  • Eomeonim [Korean] - (n.) mother; an honorific used to address a mother-in-law from the husband’s side of the family   
>  • Kimchi is fermented vegetables seasoned to have a spicy flavor. There are many varieties of it, but the most common is fermented cabbage seasoned with salt, red pepper powder, fish sauce, salted shrimp, ginger, garlic, and sugar.   
>  • The number of senior men’s singles competitors in the South Korean Figure Skating Championships only recently reached a new total of 8 in 2014. Ladies’ singles has contained more than thrice that number.   
>  • Cao Bin is a Chinese character who placed 4th as last year’s Grand Prix Final with a 261.83 final score. Due to lack of further mention in the anime, I’m supposing that he retired.   
>  • Each skating element in a program is awarded a grade of execution (GOE) by the judging panel. The GOE grades the quality of the element and is an integer scaled from -3 to +3.   
>  • Russia and Japan are amongst the most intense national championships in figure skating.   
>  • Sunbae [Korean] - (n.) an honorific used to address someone who is your senior or has more experience than you   
>  • The U.S. National Dancesport Championships are divided into divisions. The rhythm division consists of cha cha, rumba, East Coast swing, bolero, and mambo.   
> 
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day~! Here’s a new chapter!  
>  I’m sorry for being so late with the update. Life hit me hard and I couldn’t work on it for several days. (ಥ﹏ಥ) 
> 
> Seung Gil still has no idea how much he contradicts himself, but he is slowly becoming self-aware, lol. This chapter is mostly a stew of future possibilities. Gotta set up for the fun stuff~ Please let me know if any part is confusing and I’ll do my best to explain! 
> 
> Thank you for your comments~ and…this fic surpassed the 500-kudos milestone! ♪♫┌iiiii┐Σ(°ロ° ) ♫♬  
>  I’m really happy~~ It’s my first work on AO3. I want to thank you for your support, but all I have is my writing… (￣▽￣;;)  
>  I have thoughts for a mythology AU for a while, so...perhaps a gift AU as a oneshot? I'll leave the type of AU up for you guys to decide! Drop suggestions in my [askbox](https://inqueblott.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr to avoid cluttering the comments. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your enthusiasm for this fic!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Yuánfèn_ (缘份) [Mandarin] - (n.) “fateful coincidence”; the luck by which people are brought together for a chance to build meaning between them

“See, there it is!” JJ shouts in triumph, pointing down the street ahead of them. The familiar shape of Hotel Barcelona Princess stands sharply lit against the night sky. “I said we were close, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Isabella agrees, her indulgent tone exaggerated and sweet. She makes a show of checking her watch and gasps in mock surprise. “And only twenty-two minutes ago. Well done!” 

JJ pouts at the faux praise. “Oh, c’mon.”

“It’s alright, your Majesty,” Isabella says, not missing the chance to further tease him. She smiles to show that she means no real harm. “I wore my low heels for a reason.”

“Ugh. You make me sound _predictable_ ,” JJ says. He presses a hand to his chest in scandalized dismay. “How _could_ you? Oh…” The hand rises to clutch his temple as he moans, swaying on his feet as if faint from distress. 

Isabella chuckles at JJ’s theatrics, pretending to not notice the irregular lengths of his strides. After a few paces, she senses incoming movement and takes a quick step backward, neatly avoiding the hip check that JJ tries to sneak. In honesty, her intent was only to dodge him, but Isabella isn’t one to pass up an opportunity. Upon seeing JJ’s unprotected side, she swings her hips forward and bumps him, sending him stumbling to the side.

“Landed counterattack. Two points!” Isabella cheers, “That puts me in the lead.”

“What, no!” JJ regains his footing and recounts their scores. “I had forty-six points and—”

“I had forty-five,” Isabella drawls. She giggles as realization dawns on his face. “I steal one point from you with the counter, which puts me at forty-seven and _you_ at forty-five.” 

“ _Ughhh_ ,” JJ groans. He turns and points at her in the dramatic stance of a defeated challenger. “Enjoy the lead while you can. The king of games will reclaim it, just you wait!” 

Isabella laughs. It’s always the same with JJ. He hates to lose and always plans his comeback. JJ twists his mouth as if to monologue further, but is interrupted by a text alert sounding from his pocket. 

“What is it?” Isabella asks as he digs out his cell phone, “Did your sister send another video?” 

“Nope,” JJ says. He grins as he taps to unlock the screen. “Tidings from the Snow Prince.” 

“Oh? You got back in his good graces?” 

“What?” JJ makes a derisive noise from the back of his throat. “I never fell out of his good graces.” 

Isabella raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, recalling the past weekend when a certain anxious man invaded her home and devoured her carton of Häagen-Dazs ice cream. JJ seems to remember the same, his expression turning sheepish from her stare. 

“I promised to go easy with the emojis,” he says, “Maybe sent a video of the shelter. Maybe two.”  

“You…” A giggle bubbles out of Isabella. “You played your trump card so easily?” 

“Laugh all you want! The little guys there love me, and I love them.” JJ sticks out his tongue, causing Isabella to renew her laughter. “And he loves animals. Everyone wins.” 

“Geez _,_ ” Isabella gasps. She watches JJ wrap up his reply, smiling at his obvious good mood. “To think that you’d be friends now.”

“Hm, what about it?” JJ asks.

“That’s all you have to say?” 

JJ looks up from his phone with a clueless smile.

Isabella rolls her eyes and pitches her voice to mimic an angry whine. “ _Izzy, the jerk from last year is back again! How am I supposed to spend another summer seeing his face? Never smiling or even talking to anyone. He stands around, acting all cool, just because he can land jumps better than anyone else._ ”

“Hey, I was just a kid!” JJ defends himself weakly, “How was I supposed to guess he didn’t know English back then?”

“ _He even grew taller. Why do guys like him get taller and I don’t?”_ Isabella continues on, getting into her performance. JJ isn’t the only one with a flair for drama. She clenches a fist in the air and glares into the distance. _“It’s like he shows up to look good and that’s it! With his robot face and girly hair! He gets on my nerves so much, but he doesn’t even notice—_ mph!” 

Isabella smiles into the sudden kiss. JJ’s been watching too many rom-coms again. Still, there is one downfall to this. Isabella pulls away and confirms her suspicions. 

“ _Pfft_. Look at what you did now,” she snickers, pointing at the red stain on his lips, “It’s not even your color.”

JJ swipes at his mouth, but the color doesn’t budge. 

“Nope. Still there.” 

“Save me, Izzy,” JJ implores, leaning down and forward. 

Isabella smiles and pulls a small pouch from her pocket. She unzips it, fishes out a make-up remover wipe, and rips open its packet to dab it to JJ’s face. 

“Always prepared for trouble,” JJ mumbles through the wet tissue. 

“Well, you make the trouble double,” Isabella quips. She checks to make sure that all traces of red are gone and pokes him in the cheek. “You’d do better with a burgundy. This one’s too blue-toned for you.” Isabella’s eyes glint with mischief as she waves the scarlet-dyed tissue in hand. “It would, however, look great on a certain skater boy…” 

“Izzy,” JJ groans, running a hand over his face. 

“Oh, what’s this?” Isabella says in glee. She ducks her head to get a better look at his darkening face. “Did you imagine it?” 

“ **No.** ”

“But I think you did! You're a weak, _weak_ man, Jean-Jacques Leroy.” Isabella’s playful tone is at odds with her wicked smile. “Does he know he was your first crush? I should tell him that he was your first crush.”

“He was **not** my first crush,” JJ says, trying to school a stern expression, “I was thirteen.” 

“And an adorable late-bloomer. You were so angry and confused. So cute,” Isabella coos. JJ wrestles an arm around her, as if restraining her would stop her talking. Isabella laughs and pushes against him, but he pins her to his chest, practically carrying her as they walk. It must be quite a spectacle, but Isabella doesn’t care about that while she’s having fun. No college student would, not after surviving finals week. 

“ **Congrats on your marriage!** ” 

The joyous cry carries down the street, drawing Isabella’s attention. 

“Hey,” she says, nudging JJ with a shoulder. She lifts her chin, gesturing him to look at the shops to their left. Sitting around a table outside L’illa Del Forum are the faces of six familiar Grand Prix finalists. 

“Oh,” JJ says brightly, “Those guys are—”

“Everyone!” Phichit Chulanont stands abruptly from his chair, causing the conversation at neighboring tables to fall into a lull. The young man grins and sweeps a hand out to a frozen Yuuri Katsuki. “My good friend here got married!” 

“…Oh _wow_.” JJ releases a low whistle. “That Russian doesn’t hold back in anything.”

“I thought the press was exaggerating the coach-student romance,” Isabella muses. She watches the Thai figure skater raise his beer in toast as Yuuri flails at the congratulations pouring towards him. Their table of companions show a fun mix of reactions, but Yuri Plisetsky’s dumbstruck expression takes the cake. The kid makes the most spectacular faces, even without active teasing. 

“N-no, this is, um…” The Japanese athlete waves his arms through the air as if to dispel the cheers. His voice cracks as he tries to speak. “It’s to th-thank him for all his help… And l-lots of other th-thi-things… Yes, o-other things!” He throws a desperate look at the silver-haired man sitting beside him. 

“Yeah,” Viktor Nikiforov chuckles, “Don’t get the wrong idea.” He rests his chin against the palm of one hand and smirks as he raises his other. Something gold glints off his right ring finger. “This is an engagement ring. We’ll get married once he wins a gold medal. Right, Yuuri?”

“What? V-Viktor?!” 

Something flips inside Isabella’s chest and drops to her stomach. She doesn’t dwell on the feeling. It’s a popular proposal by athletes, she’s sure. 

“Geez,” JJ snickers from beside her, “Ruthless as always.” 

Viktor sips from his beer with a deliberate smile, the only relaxed occupant of the once convivial table. Yuuri tries and fails to string words together, wilting under the glares of his peers. Seconds pass and the mood just gets heavier. Is the guy usually such a nervous wreck? The Japanese man begins to literally tremble. Isabella feels JJ inhale sharply before—

“ **Wait a second!** ” 

Over a dozen wide-eyed faces jerk to their direction, including the ones belonging to JJ’s target audience. He flashes a brilliant grin and points sharply between Yuuri and Viktor. 

“The one who wins gold and gets married will be JJ, of course!” JJ declares. Everyone at the table gawks at him. Still caught under his arm, Isabella plays along.

“That’s right,” she says, matching his enthusiasm, “It’ll definitely be JJ!” 

“Sorry we can’t congratulate you on that future marriage,” JJ continues. He rubs a hand behind his head, a bashful gesture that clashes with his self-assured smirk. His competitors stare at him, exasperation heavy in their eyes. By now, the tense atmosphere is long dead. Isabella glances at Russian blond of the group and nearly laughs outright. 

The boy’s face truly twists in amazing ways. 

“Well,” Viktor says, breaking the silence. He rises from his seat and gathers shopping bags from the ground. “Tomorrow’s an early start. Better call it a night.” As if on cue, everyone at the table also prepares their leave. 

“Huh, what? Wait a second,” JJ teases. The group doesn’t stop, moving past him for the crosswalk. JJ releases Isabella to cup both hands around his mouth. “I was just joooooking~!” 

“Eat dirt, scumbag!” Yuri shouts back over his shoulder, heaving with rage. His isn’t the only reaction. Otabek Altin also looks back at them, expression strained and pinched around the eyes. 

“Aw, don’t make that face.” JJ waves with a laugh. “You’ll get wrinkles before I do!” 

“You shitty–!” Yuri turns and takes a step towards them, but his name-sharing counterpart grabs his arm and pulls the angry boy along to cross the road. 

“Good night, kitten!” JJ calls back. He smirks at the angry sputters he gets in response. “ _Haaah_ , it’ll be boring the day he grows up.” 

“Talking like an old man now?” Isabella says with a playful smile. 

“I’d be the most beautiful old man,” JJ replies without a shred of doubt, “I would be worshiped and have memes like Robert Downey Jr. An army of pre-teens and soccer moms would fall at my feet and—” He pauses, rethinking what he said. “Wait, no. That might be too much power.”  

Isabella laughs and grabs JJ’s hand, pulling him forward into a walk. “C’mon. We should head back too.”

“Do we _really~_?” JJ lengthens his words in a sing-song voice. “Truly? _Sincerely_ , should weeee~?” 

“Stop,” Isabella scolds. She pokes him in the side where she knows he’s ticklish. JJ jolts and ceases his antics. “You have practice in the morning. And the opening ceremony and short program are the same night.” 

“I slept a lot last night,” JJ says. 

“That was a jet lag-induced coma.” Isabella frowns, starting to feel bothered. “Do you rest during other competitions?”

“I do, I do,” JJ assures. He swings their joined hands between them. “It’s just fun when you’re with me. I get to go out with company.” 

“You don’t normally?” Isabella asks. She masks her concern, keeping her inquiry light and casual.

“Nah, not really.” JJ checks the road before crossing. His expression is relaxed, but he won’t meet her eyes. “It gets busy and nobody sees much of each other.” 

They just saw the other finalists eating together though. 

“I see,” Isabella says, and lets the matter go. 

Though his growing fame and popularity get him invitations to parties, JJ doesn’t socialize all that often. He splits his time between training, classes, and family, and somehow managed to start a fashion brand too. As his long time friend, Isabella can’t help her worry. JJ’s largest social circle is made up by his fellow athletes. He gets along with them back home, but for some reason, JJ doesn’t click with the international ones when she sees so many of them celebrating their friendships on SNS. Isabella knows about Otabek and that he and JJ met at the Toronto Cricket, Skating and Curling Club. They even practiced jumps together, so she assumed they were close, but the rejection of the dinner invite makes her rethink that now. Isabella doesn’t want to assume, but if JJ is acting like this, he might not have anyone to—

A familiar chime interrupts her thoughts. 

JJ brings his cell phone to his face and chuckles at what he reads. 

…Well. 

“You know,” Isabella starts, a smile tugging at her lips. She looks pointedly at JJ’s cell phone.  “I bet he sleeps properly, unlike you.” 

“ _Pfft_ –funny you say that.” JJ tilts his phone, offering her a look at the screen. Isabella leans forward to read. 

> there were korean girls at my fan meet! said they’re studying abroad and rooting for me. looks lik i’m stealing ur ladies! u better step it up or i’ll convert them all (Smiling Face With Sunglasses )
> 
> **Snow Prince** ❄️(Shortcake ) **:** You are welcome to take them, I have no complaints. Their intensity would likely appeal to you.
> 
> wow so cold lol. but ur fans r rlly cute. try being nicer to them.
> 
> *really
> 
> the christmas market here is really something. got lost for a while but finished all my gift shopping. do u celebrate the holidays?
> 
> **Snow Prince** ❄️(Shortcake ) **:** I spend Christmas with my family. It’s usually a quiet evening. The SP is tomorrow. Go to sleep early if you’re done shopping.

“Why the cake emoji?” Isabella asks, noticing the cute icon.

“Ah,” JJ says, “He has a crazy sweet tooth.” 

Isabella pictures the stoic Korean sitting down to an elaborate tea party. A sound of amusement escapes her throat.

“I know! It doesn’t match up.” JJ shakes his head and laughs as he texts. “He’s a funny guy.”

“He’s got good sense though,” Isabella says. She pokes his side again. “Two against one. The votes are against you. Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep.” 

“ _Ack_! Okay, I give!” JJ yelps. He pouts as they enter the hotel lobby. “You two would get along.”

“Hm. Maybe,” Isabella hums.

“I really think you would,” JJ insists. He tucks his phone back into his jacket and reclaims her hand. “I’ll introduce the two of you at Worlds.” 

“Yeah?”

“Of course.” JJ grins broadly. “Perfect chance to show off my lovely fiancé.” 

It takes greater effort than expected to return his smile. 

“Right,” Isabella says. Her agreement comes out weaker than she meant to. 

“Are you feeling okay?” JJ asks, his grin fading. 

“I’m alright,” Isabella replies. She forces a small laugh. “Just a bit tired.” 

“Guess it’s bedtime for both of us,” JJ jokes as he presses the elevator call button. 

“Guess so,” Isabella agrees. She looks down at their laced fingers and tries to swallow her unease, but the sight of the diamond ring makes it difficult. 

Despite his earlier protests, JJ falls asleep like a baby. He’s gone as soon as his head hit the pillow. Isabella doesn’t have it as easy. She was truthful when she said that she was tired, but her mind refuses to relax. She tosses and turns, trying to find a suitable way to sleep, and when she wakes up in the morning, it’s like she hadn’t dreamt at all. It’s a unsettling feeling that stays with her throughout the day. JJ notices her sour mood after his practice—of course he does—and suggests her favorite food for lunch. He’s being thoughtful, but it makes her feel guilty. It’s supposed to be his big day, focused on him and not her. 

“I’m fine with it,” JJ says around a forkful of chicken. As hearty as it looks, a salad is a salad, and it can’t compare to the double cheeseburger sitting on Isabella’s own plate. 

“You keep staring at my fries.” Isabella would offer him some if it wasn’t for tonight. JJ avoids heavy foods before a performance. He says it’s to keep him feeling light. “I’ll get you two triples after you finish your skate.” 

“Just get me a bouquet of fries,” JJ suggests with a chuckle, “That’s all I need.” 

“I’ll choose the thickest and longest of them,” Isabella says, causing JJ to choke on a crouton, “With a blooming onion in the center. It’ll be very romantic.” 

 “ _Pfft!_ My dad would want his own!” JJ laughs. The two of them snicker at Alain Leroy fondness for fried food and the tension in Isabella’s chest finally begins to let up. 

This feels natural. Things should be this way. Isabella resolves to cheer the loudest she can that night. She hates the throaty rasp of losing her voice, but she decides it’ll be worth it. JJ would do the same for her if their positions were reversed. He’s in top form this year, beating his personal best two times in a row. If he wins— _when_ he wins—it will be the first ISU gold for their country in years. He’ll be out of his parents’ shadow, a champion in his own right. 

He will be Jean-Jacques Leroy. First in His Name. The King.

Only…

That doesn’t happen.

 

Nothing happens the way it is supposed to at all. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“ **Leave me alone!** ” 

The scream echoes in the arena, bouncing off the walls and back again. For the first time in two days, JJ isn’t shrugging things off with a smile. He’s wild-eyed and panting, his shoulders heaving with every breathe. The thrown water bottle continues to spill out on the ice. Neither Alain nor Natalie say anything for a moment, stunned, but then their eyes meet JJ’s and the latter shudders, burying his face in his hands. 

Isabella can’t decide what’s more awful—seeing JJ lose the last of his composure or his mother’s expression as he falls apart. 

“JJ…” Natalie says softly. It’s a plea and and a pardon all in one whisper. 

“Sorry,” JJ chokes out from between his fingers. He raises his head, looking ashamed as he sobs. “Maman, I-I’m sorry. I don’t kn-know…” His mother wordlessly lifts her arms. He takes less than a second to fall forward and collapse into them. “I don’t know what to do!” 

“Shhh,” Natalie hushes, tightening her arms around him, “It’s alright, _mon chou_.” JJ presses his face into her shoulder, saying nothing. A hush falls among the scattered audience members. As the host of the Grand Prix Final this year, the Spanish Ice Sports Federation is granting public viewing of the athletes’ practice sessions. Normally this wouldn’t be a bother for JJ, but the pressure from attention caused the last of his control to give out. Isabella hugs her arms around herself, hating her inability to fix anything. 

“Bella?” 

Isabella jolts, not expecting the address. Alain Leroy just smiles sadly.

“Could you get another water for us?” he asks, “That was the last one.” 

“I…” The tremble in her voice is too damn obvious. Isabella swallows thickly. “Y-yes. Okay.” It’s uncomfortable, like she’s running away, but she still takes his gentle offer to get away. Despite his gruff appearance, Alain is a sharply perceptive man. 

The walk to the vending machine is a short one, but Isabella appreciates just having a task to focus on. She stares at selections available, recognizing the labels despite her lackluster skill in Spanish. 

Perhaps instead of one bottle, she should get two. Should the second one be a sports drink? Her right hand hovers over the machine’s keypad, indecisive on what to choose. 

She…can’t remember which one is JJ’s favorite. 

Did he never tell her? No, even if he hadn’t, she should know from the years she grew up with him. Did she really not notice? It’s only a small thing, but what else did she miss, how many times? 

If only he would _talk_ her. 

When Isabella had rushed down to meet JJ after his program, she knew that something was still very wrong. He was laughing, being too happy, not just around journalists, but with her as well. She knows how much he hates to lose, she _knows,_ so why wasn’t he being honest with her? Why was he _lying_? 

The princess-cut diamond gleams from her raised ring finger.

Isabella’s thoughts become cold and quiet like stone. 

No.

He isn’t lying.

It’s not a lie if it isn’t said, it just needs to be fixed, it…

…Drinks.

She’s here to get water.

Isabella inputs her selections and watches them drop to the bottom of the machine. The two water bottles are empty by the end of the practice, but she feels no satisfaction from that after what transpired earlier. Fatigued from his outburst, JJ kept losing sync with the music during the remainder of his allotted time on the ice. His parent-coaches shut it off after deeming it hinderance, but the sound of his skates cutting ice sounded so lonely on their own. It was the also the first time since she knew him that JJ didn’t smile even once throughout his routine. Isabella wants a do-over, hating that he has to end his last practice like that, but the time is up and they need to leave. 

“JJ is still in the washroom,” Natalie says as she closes a bag of equipment, “He’s been there a while now.” 

“I’ll call him,” Alain grunts, rising up to his feet. Though they don’t say it outright, their concern for their son is obvious. Alain digs into his pocket and then presses his cell phone to his ear. He waits a beat as the call connects, and then speaks. “JJ? We’re packed up. When are you—” The complete halt of Alain’s words cause Isabella and Natalie to stare. It’s rare to see the senior Leroy at a complete loss. “…Are you sure? Wait, no. Meet us in the lobby, alright?”

“Is there trouble?” Natalie asks as her husband hangs up the call. Her hazel eyes are bright with worry.

“No trouble,” Alain replies. He picks up a bag and tugs it onto a shoulder. “He’s insistent on doing off-ice training.”

“Off-ice training?” Natalie repeats, perplexed, “Right now?”

“Right now,” Alain confirms, leading the three of them to the arena exit, “That boy… I don’t know what has come over him, but he said he needs to prepare a surprise. That he can’t just leave things this way when he’s this far.” A relieved chuckle falls from his lips. “It looks our young king is back, _mon_ _cœur_.” 

The words sounds too sudden and too good to be true, but when they see JJ in the lobby, Isabella has the mind to believe them. JJ still looks tired and downcast, but he waits for them with unwavering eyes, mouth set in a determined line. He look nowhere ready to give up yet. 

Alain and Natalie notice the same and strongly encourage his improved condition. They fall straight into business, asking for the exact details of what JJ has in mind to change as the four of them make the short trek to the hotel. Isabella isn’t the president of a figure skater fan club for nothing. When JJ shares his intention to change his last jump to a quadruple loop, she knows that the idea crazy. That jump was ratified just _last year_ , and JJ’s success rate with the landing is still considerably low. Trading his reliable toe loop for that is something no normal coach would agree to. But Alain and Natalie aren’t normal. 

“I’ll find us a spot in the gym facilities here,” Natalie declares upon entering the hotel, “Bella, please don’t wait for us and eat lunch at your convenience.” 

It doesn’t end up being just lunch. After the impromptu training, JJ sleeps straight through dinner, his severe mental exhaustion being a greater concern than steady mealtimes. Not one to stay idle, Isabella makes thorough use of the free hours. As the president of an official fan club, she is well acquainted with the other leaders within the figure skating fan community. Equipped with her laptop, she hunts down a good wifi spot and gets to work. 

Besides JJ, there are five other Canadian finalists in the Grand Prix Final—one pair team, a junior ladies’ single, and two ice dancers. Isabella sends emails to the leaders of each of their fan clubs. It takes several back-and-forth exchanges, but through the power of persuasion, she gets their agreement to attend the men’s event. The hours thereafter are spent organizing their combined members, and by the time Isabella finally catches a break, the conclusive night at the Barcelona International Convention Centre is well under way. 

A text appears on her phone between the ice dance and ladies’ events. It’s a thanks from JJ for the snack left in the kitchenette. 

Isabella wonders if he has enough time to get ready. 

She withholds from asking, not wanting to distract him while he prepares.

“That was beautiful,” a fellow JJ Girl gasps from beside her, “And doesn’t her outfit look great?”

“Yes,” Isabella says, agreeing to both. Mila Babicheva waves to her fans as she leaves the rink, the rhinestones sparkling on her lavender blue dress. Hers is the last performance, marking the end of the ladies’ competition. As rink technicians rush in to resurface the ice, an announcement blares the impending start of the night’s last event—the senior men’s free skate. 

Tension thickens within the stadium. 

As the finalist with the lowest short program score, JJ is first up to literally and figuratively break the ice. His expression is grim during the group warm-up, stress making his movements stiff. On his first practice jump, Isabella cheers his name. Her single voice gives rise to many, and large swaths of the audience raise flags, coloring the stadium with red and white. Someone, somewhere, starts a chorus of the Canadian national anthem. United national pride in ice sports is a powerful force. 

All the skaters look stunned. JJ seeks Isabella out from the crowd and tilts his head at her—’ _Did you do this?’_  

Isabella raises her hands in an innocent shrug while grinning, then cups her mouth to join the noise. “ **JJ,** ** _jiā yóu_** **!** ” 

Though she can’t hear it from where she is seated, Isabella sees his mouth tighten the way it always does whenever he chuckles. Encouraged, she shouts again, watching the rink empty out for JJ’s routine.

“ **JJ, you can do it!** ” It’s a promise and a plea. 

Please.

Isabella clasps her hands as JJ exchanges final words with his coaches. She shuts her eyes for a moment, investing in a prayer. 

_Please._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What an utter disaster.

Isabella stares down at the mess in her care and ponders whether it has any chance for salvation. The silence puts JJ on edge and he fidgets, assuming worse the longer it goes on. 

“Is it…that bad?” He seems almost scared to ask.

“The way I see it, you have two options.” Isabella taps a finger against the crown of JJ’s head, then brings it up to her face to check the amount of transfer from the contact. She scrunches her nose, not happy with what she sees. “You either hide it or leave it as is. If it’s you, I’m sure you can pull off either.”

“Izzy, the exhibition starts in a hour!” JJ whines. His fidgeting worsens to kicking his foot against the leg of his chair. “C’mon. Save me!” 

“I can’t always fix everything,” Isabella chides. She wipes her fingers on a towel and surveys the damage again, from different angles this time. “Why did you even put so much glitter in your hair?” 

“The lid broke on me.” JJ sighs. He scrolls through his phone while undergoing examination. “You should have seen the way Papa laughed. I think he cried.” 

“I bet he did. You look like a disco ball,” Isabella says in a wry tone. The dark silver glitter isn’t a bad idea. The effect looked great under spotlight during JJ’s past exhibitions, and goes well with the rock theme he has with his leather jacket and gothic cross pendant. The only problem is the overkill amount right now. Isabella bets that she could mold a small crown if she adds enough hair gel to hold the shimmery dust. 

Huh. If she uses a comb with hair gel, maybe she could create a gradient along his hairline? It would be a pain to transfer the glitter, but the effect might work. 

Isabella voices her idea and asks for JJ’s opinion, but receives a noncommittal hum as a response. She frowns and looks over his shoulder to see him checking his Instagram. His most recent selfie with his bronze medal and Isabella now has well over a thousand likes. 

“Ugh. I cried in that photo,” Isabella complains. 

“But you look great,” JJ insists, sincere. He gives her a playful wink. “Pretty as always.”

“Oh?” Isabella says. She leans over the back of his chair and catches his eyes. “Just pretty?” 

“Gorgeous. Stunning. Breathtaking,” JJ proclaims, waggling his eyebrows. Isabella laughs and returns back upright. She repeats her possible hair solution to him and suggests switching to a lower chair.

“Gotcha. I’ll just…” JJ gets out of his seat to grab a short stool. He makes to sit down again when he stops and turns, excited. “Izzy!”—he presses against her side, sharing his phone—“Look!” 

Isabella looks.   

> **seung-gillee** started following you. 4s
> 
> **seung-gillee** liked your post. 5s

“I’m following him back!” JJ says, eyes gleaming. Isabella giggles as he taps on the username to do just that. The photos on his new mutual’s account are very serene and calm compared to JJ’s usual posts. A dozing Siberian Husky. A pale, snow-filled sky. A new pair of skates. As JJ thumbs over each and every photo, suspicion grows within Isabella. 

He wouldn’t… No, he definitely would. 

“Are you liking all of his posts?” Isabella asks with heavy judgment. 

“Yep!” JJ answers without a trace of apology. 

“If you keep doing that, he’s going to—”

An alert chimes from JJ’s phone as a notification appears.  

> **Snow Prince** ❄️(Shortcake )  
>  Text Message

“See?” Isabella points out. JJ chuckles and checks the message, revealing bubbles of text on the screen. 

> i’ll prepare a surprise just for you then!!
> 
> **Snow Prince** ❄️(Shortcake ) **:** You don’t have to do that.
> 
> but i want to~~
> 
> ah i’m getting a phone call
> 
> ttyl
> 
> *talk to you later
> 
> **Snow Prince** ❄️(Shortcake ) **:** Good-bye.
> 
> it’s night there right?
> 
> goodnight!
> 
> **Today** 11:18 AM 
> 
> **Snow Prince** ❄️(Shortcake ) **:** Stop. 

“Wow, just one word!” JJ laughs. Isabella doesn’t comment, busy scanning the previous exchange of texts. She thinks back to what transpired yesterday, right after Alain Leroy hung up his phone. 

_‘I don’t know what has come over him, but he said he needs to prepare a surprise.’_

She doesn’t know when she will meet him, but for when she does, Isabella vows to gift a gourmet cake to Seung Gil Lee. Or artisan pastries. She makes a mental note to find out the Korean athlete’s preferences. 

“Not going to chat with him?” Isabella asks when JJ tucks his phone away sooner than expected.

“Nah. Later,” JJ replies, finally taking his new seat.

“Won’t he find that rude?” Isabella says. 

“Nope. He should know about the gala exhibition. He’s really good with time zones. Even gave me tips on how to handle jet lag.”

“Then why were you worse off coming here?” Isabella scoffs. She wraps a towel around his shoulders as protection for his skate outfit. 

“Too hyped,” JJ laughs, “Good advice wasted on me.” 

Isabella raises the comb to start on his hair, but gets stopped by JJ’s hand catching her own. 

“Shouldn’t you take off the ring?” he says.

“What?” Isabella’s heart jumps to thump in her throat. 

“It’ll get dirty,” JJ reasons. 

“…Right.” 

Isabella retracts her hand and twists the engagement ring adorning her finger. She wiggles it past her knuckle and then slides it off to hold it in her grasp. She stares at it, at a loss on where to put it. “Can you take it back?”

“Hm?”

“I mean…” Isabella clears her throat and corrects herself. “Hold onto it for me.” 

“Sure,” JJ agrees easily. He holds a hand out over his shoulder to take it. 

Isabella drops the ring onto his palm and watches his fingers close around it, obscuring it from sight. As Isabella works JJ’s hair into something passable, she notes how much lighter it feels to have both hands undecorated. Taming the glitter is a long and tricky endeavor, but the novelty of the problem makes it almost fun. When JJ looks in a mirror later and whistles at the result of her effort, Isabella can’t help the proud smile that grows on her lips. 

“It actually looks better than what I do on my own,” JJ remarks. He looks more and more pleased the longer he studies his reflection. 

“Well, of course,” Isabella says, not without a smug hint of pride, “After thirty minutes of me _laboring_ over your head—”

“Shoot!” JJ leaps to his feet and loosens the towel from his shoulders. “Damn, I have to get back. Really, you’re the best. I knew you could fix anything.” He flashes her a winsome grin. 

“Oh, hurry off on your way, your Majesty,” Isabella says, shooing him with her hands. JJ laughs and skirts around her as he skips for the exit.

“You complete me!” he shouts from the door, then takes off down the hallway.

Isabella shakes her head and sets about packing away the hair supplies. There’s no need to be too neat with it, since the glitter will need to be washed off later. Despite her precautions, silvery debris still managed to float off and stick to unintended places. Even her hands, which were protected by gloves, didn’t end out unscathed. 

Isabella frowns and tries rubbing off the flakes, but they remain stuck to her skin. Sitting through the gala exhibition with glitter-stained hands doesn’t hold appeal for her. Deciding that there’s enough time for a detour before finding her seat, Isabella heads for the washroom for the sake of gaining clean hands. She finds a few other people there, but not enough that she feels rude for taking up a sink. It’s while she’s rinsing her hands that she becomes aware of it. The cold water runs over her knuckles, chasing away the soapy lather and revealing a paleness around the base of one of her fingers.

A tan line.

The ring.

For a second, Isabella believes that she lost it. Then it dawns on her that she didn’t receive it back from JJ before he left. It must have slipped both their minds in his rush. Her hands start feeling numb from staying under the running faucet. Isabella shuts the water off and dries her hands with a paper towel. 

Guilt.

That’s what the heavy feeling in her stomach is. 

Things aren’t fine. She was forced to acknowledge that these past few days, when JJ’s breakdown highlighted the cracks in her self-deception. The quiet signs were there for a while now. She’s trying her best, but nothing seems to be working. It was all progressing just fine, so _perfectly_ , and yet…

“You’re Isabella Yang, right?” 

She looks up at the long, sink mirror to see three girls standing behind her, one of them a blonde with a twisted smirk on her face. Isabella has seen enough poisonous looks to know that the trio doesn’t intend well. She throws her used paper towel into the waste bin. 

“Nah, it can’t be her,” says one of the other girls. She snaps her gum as she sighs. “She’s way too plain.”

“It’s _definitely_ her,” the remaining third insists. 

Isabella turns to walk around the group, but get blocked by the blonde who called her out. 

“Hey, I’m talking,” her aggressor snaps, “Not going to answer?” 

“I don’t believe I know you,” Isabella replies. The other washroom occupants avert their eyes from her predicament. “I don’t feel like talking.” 

“ _Aww_ , don’t be like that.” The blonde laces her voice to sound sickly sweet. “We can be friends starting now!” The two others snicker. Isabella isn’t of the mind to entertain them right now. 

“Not interested,” she says with glare. 

“Wow. **Bitch**.” 

“Hey, hey!” The third girl raises her voice placate the others. “A _rich_ bitch. You have to give her credit where it’s due.” Her smile is all teeth. “She nabbed a good deal.” 

“From fan girl to _fiancé_ , holy shit,” crows the blonde, “What’d you do to climb the ladder like that?” The gum-snapper makes an obscene gesture with her fingers and tongue, causing the others to laugh. Disgust and anger rolls in Isabella’s stomach. “Hey, c’mon. Spill it. We’re _dying_ to know—”

“Excuse me.”

The new voice is a surprise to all four of them. The girls obviously had confidence in their ability to repel good-doers, and Isabella didn’t expect anyone to butt in on behalf of a stranger. The interloper doesn’t look like she’s intending a rescue though. Despite being the one to call out to them, the young woman looks bored and unimpressed when they turn to face her. 

“Shouldn’t you move?” she says, her boldness contrasting with her short and slight figure. “You’re blocking the sinks.” 

“What?” Another snap of gum and a sneer. “Are you dense? Can’t you see we’re busy?”

“I don’t see it,” the stranger replies calmly, “You’re just spewing shit in a restroom, which doesn’t take talent.” 

“The _fuck_ , you fucking…” The blonde looks between the newcomer and Isabella. “Do you chinks know each other?” 

“Ah, so annoying," the interloper sighs.

“Say what, you slit-eyed—”

 **_SLAP_** _._

Isabella’s eyes widen at the resounding crack of a hand landing across the blonde’s face. The other two harassers are silent as the blonde touches her cheek in numb shock. 

“All bark and no bite, huh? Typical.” The woman lowers her arm and takes a step closer, causing all three girls to flinch. The collective, nervous reaction pulls a dark chuckle from her. She seems dangerous now, with her black pixie cut hair and dark eyes, almost sinister. “Let’s try this again. **Move**.” 

The blonde bites her lip and pushes past her assailant, her friends hurrying after her out the door. Isabella catches a hateful glare from them before the door shuts, and then she’s alone with the woman who’d just slapped a person as if hitting a fly. The silence in the washroom tells her that they’re the only ones there. 

“Th…that was too much,” Isabella manages to say. The reprimand makes the other snort.

“I hate seeing spectacles like that.” The woman approaches the sinks and pulls up her sleeves, revealing notes on her arms written in blue and black ink. Some parts look like words, but not really. The woman takes a photo of them with her phone before turning on the faucet, then runs an arm under the water. Isabella glances at the cell phone and sees a lock screen photo of a Siberian Husky before it shuts off to black. “You look older than them too."

Isabella feels her face warm up in embarrassment. “I was handling it. They just caught me off guard this time.” 

“This time, huh.” The water in the sink swirls dark as it seeps the color off the dark-eyed woman’s arms. She lathers them up a second, and then a third pump of soap. “Good luck with next time, then.”

“Thanks,” Isabella snorts sarcastically. The woman’s criticism irks her. She hates receiving advice from strangers. “Do you have any other advice for me, oh, Wise One? Can you see into my future? My love life? Career?”

“Don’t mistake me for someone who cares.” The woman runs out of soap and leans across to try a different dispenser. “Your future and love life have nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, _everyone_ cares,” Isabella says, voice heavy with sarcasm. She gesticulates to emphasis the massive amount care people pay. “I just have it so _good_! Daughter of pharma CEO gets married to son of Olympic legends! How rich will we be? What will our children look like? Have I gotten fatter? Winter chub or a secret love-child? Oh no!” 

“ _Pfft._ ” 

The laugh is a surprise, not because Isabella doesn’t expect it, but from how it sounds. It’s different from the evil chuckle from earlier, more unrefined and carefree. Their gazes meet through the mirror and Isabella sees an unexpectedly kind smile. 

“Marry whoever you want. If you love them, you love them.” Dark eyes fall to the where Isabella’s hands dropped to rest in front of her. “If you don’t, then you don’t.” 

Isabella becomes very conscious of her empty ring finger. She shields her left hand over it in a defensive move. “I love him.”

“Hm.”

“I do,” Isabella insists. The stranger says nothing and Isabella feels compelled to fill the quiet between them with words. “We grew up together, stuck by each other for years. We were best friends before anything else. When we dated, we were so _happy._ My favorite memories have the both of us in them. I want things to be right, I want a future where everything _feels_ right. There’s nothing wrong between us, we’re perfect. I just—”

The faucet isn’t on anymore. Isabella realizes this, because there’s no sound of running water to mask the stuttered breathing as she cries. Embarrassed, she tries to hold her breath and compose herself. 

“…It’s possible to love someone,” the woman speaks without turning around, “And still fall out of love with them.” 

Isabella wipes her face with her hands. “That’s not what I _want_ though. I want to **fix** this.” 

“Don’t you think it’s unfair though?”

“Huh?” Isabella blinks through her tears.

“You’re deciding things all on your own.” The woman turns and walks for the door, drying her wet arms against the back of her shirt. “It takes two to get married. Rather than a complete stranger, you should be talking to him.”

“Wha—”

The woman doesn’t wait for Isabella’s response and leaves, letting the door swing shut behind her. Isabella stands stunned, alone now, until the last words sink in.

This is why she hates advice from strangers. The problem didn’t lie with JJ, the problem was with _her_. He is the same as always, he doesn’t need to change. He is so stressed these days too, so what’s the point of upsetting him further? She can solve this on her own. JJ didn’t even talk about his feelings to her, so she shouldn’t bother him with her—

…Oh. 

She feels like a fool.

The guitar riff of _Theme of King JJ_ echoes in the washroom, stirring Isabella out of her daze. She accepts the call and brings her cell phone to her ear. 

“Hey!” JJ greets, “I don’t see you in your seat. Is something up?” 

Isabella doesn’t answer. 

“Izzy?” JJ sounds less upbeat now, concern coloring his voice. 

“…No.” Isabella leans against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. “No, it’s not fair.” 

“Izzy, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“You…” Isabella opens her eyes and looks across from her. With no one else to block the view, her reflection stares back, eyes red-rimmed and makeup splotchy on her cheeks. “Have I been strange to you, JJ?”

“…Did something happen?” 

“No. Well, yeah. It did.” Isabella leans over the sinks to get a closer look at her face. She needs to retouch her foundation. “That’s not it, though. I…I realized that I need to tell you something later.” A lump forms in her throat, but she forces it down. She doesn’t want to cry over the phone. “I haven’t been…honest with you. I’m sorry.” 

“Izzy?”

“Later,” Isabella promises. She takes a shuddering breathe. “It’s something we should talk about in person…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Hotel Barcelona Princess, shown as “Prince” in Episode 10. [[x]](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/73/Hotel_Princess_Barcelona.jpg)   
>  • L'illa Del Forum is the café where the figure skaters have dinner in Episode 10. It is directly across the road from Hotel Barcelona Princess.   
>  • Viktor wears his ring on his right ring finger in the anime, which can be attributed to the Russian tradition of wearing the wedding ring like so.   
>  • The English subtitles from the anime read "I'll be the one who wins gold and gets married", but JJ refers to himself in third person in Japanese and I thought that was fittingly pretentious for this particular moment.   
>  • JJ acts familiar with Otabek in Episode 10, and then mentions helping Otabek with the quad Salchow in Episode 12. These hints imply that JJ and Otabek once shared a training location, so I went with the idea.   
>  • The Toronto Cricket, Skating and Curling Club is famous for training elite figure skaters. Brian Orser and Tracey Wilson, two well known coaches, work as its consultants. Elizabeth Tursynbayeva, a Kazahkstan figure skater, uses the facility, and so I am using it as the training location from Otabek’s time in Canada.   
>  • Fira de Santa Llúcia is an annual Christmas market that takes place in front of the Barcelona Cathedral. It is featured in Episode 10, before and after Viktor and Yuuri’s ring exchange.   
>  • In the anime, JJ achieves a personal best in short program both at Skate Canada and the Rostelecom Cup.   
>  • The figure skating grand slam is winning all ISU Championships—the Grand Prix Final, the Four Continents/Europeans, and Worlds. Depending on the representative country, a figure skater can only participate in either the Four Continents or Europeans Championships.   
>  • Maman [French] - (n.) mom   
>  • Mon chou [French] - (n.) lit. “my cabbage/cream puff”; a popular endearment used for children   
>  • Isabella wears her ring on her right ring finger in the anime, which does not line up with the Canadian tradition of wearing it on the left. However, we can see that JJ has a huge mixed family, so I’m assuming that there’s European influence enough to have them favor the right hand tradition.   
>  • After signing in at international competitions, figure skaters are only allowed to skate during the official practice sessions set by the competition coordinators. The only exception is at the Winter Olympics.   
>  • Mon cœur [French] - (n.) lit. “my heart”; a popular endearment expressing romantic or unconditional love   
>  • The 2015-16 Grand Prix Final took place at the Barcelona International Convention Centre in Spain.   
>  • The Grand Prix Final awarded its first medals to synchronized skating during the 2015-16 season.   
>  • Mila’s dress is a reference to Evgenia Medvedeva’s “Allegro” FS from the 2015-16 season. [[x]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19w-p6ZjjYQ) Evgenia placed first in the Grand Prix Final with her performance. The tano jump is also one of Evgenia’s signature techniques, which Mila teaches to Yuri of the anime. Evgenia is also a huge fan of the show, as evidenced by her Twitter.   
>  • Jiā yóu [Mandarin] - (phr.) a combination of the characters "to add" and "oil"; commonly spoken as encouragement to stay strong or work hard, and is heard often during sporting events   
>  • JJ’s exhibition outfit as seen on the Yuri on Ice MAPPA x Movic calendar for 2017. [[x]](https://aitaikuji.com/content/images/thumbs/0003903_yuri-on-ice-mappa-x-movic-calendar.jpeg)   
> 
> 
> Hm…I went a bit crazy with the footnotes… (￣▽￣*)ゞ  
>  Hello! I hope everyone has been well! My health took a dive since the last update, so I couldn’t spare much time to write. But I’m back at it now, zooming forward with plot! This chapter is quite different from the past ones, yes? Our boy, Seung Gil, isn't here this time sadly, but he'll be back soon. I would really like to know your thoughts on how this chapter reads. I found it hard to write and don't know if I did a good job. 
> 
> On a separate note, I'm throwing out the idea for the gift AU oneshot. It seems that I worded it poorly or there was lack of interest in it. Nevermind! I'll just keep working on this story~ 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are welcome and appreciated. Thank you for tolerating me for this long!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fika_ [Swedish] - (v.) to take a break for coffee and sweets, usually in the company of colleagues, family, or friends

Haru whimpers as she paces at the doorway, claws tick-tacking in anxious rhythm against the floor. She gazes into the room with sad, bi-colored eyes before setting a paw over the threshold. 

“No,” Seung Gil chastises as he adds a sweater to his suitcase. He pins the dog with an authoritative stare. “Sit.” 

The Siberian Husky plants her rump in the hallway and sends her owner a miffed expression.

“I’m almost finished, Haru.” Seung Gil rearranges the contents in the suitcase so that the softer items would protect the more fragile. “Be good and wait.” 

Haru flattens her body on the hardwood floor, settling into a sulk. She hates to see him leave for competitions, and always tried to get underfoot as a pup. The way she tried to hide in the suitcases was cute, but the dog hair clean-up was a hassle every time. Seung Gil trained her out of the behavior, but he doesn’t put it past her to pull something else. He caught her trying to steal his sneakers just last year. He keeps a steady eye on her as he reviews his belongings. 

Practice clothes, toiletries, vitamin supplements… 

Seung Gil gets up to his feet and surveys his open luggage. He wasn’t forgetting anything, was he? Passport, flight tickets, and registration papers are in the backpack that he’s taking as his carry-on. He triple-checked everything in his equipment case, and he just finished sorting out the main bag. Everything should be more or less accounted for, yet he can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. 

“Still not done?”

Seung Gil looks up at his bedroom door to see his mother smiling in fond amusement. She has a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a steaming mug cupped in her hands. As she enters the room, she holds out the latter in offering. Seung Gil takes it, recognizing the scent of his favorite tea. 

“Not sure,” Seung Gil says as he takes a sip, “I might be forgetting something. I’m not certain.” 

“Maybe I could help? Let’s see…” His mother holds a hand to her cheek as she thinks. “A power plug adapter?” 

“I have it packed with the voltage converter.” Seung Gil affirms, nodding towards his main bag. 

“Then maybe you forgot to do something?” his mother suggests, “Did you set a travel notice on your credit card? You need to be careful. Pickpockets thrive in crowded cities like Taipei.”

“I set it up yesterday.” Seung Gil swallows another mouthful of the tea with a sigh. “I took care of all the critical things. It’s probably something small.”

“A puzzle book?”

“I’m taking one of my workbooks with me.”

“Reading glasses?”

“I have them in the—ah.” 

“Ooh! Am I right?”

“Almost,” Seung Gil says, stepping around his bags. He sets the mug on his desk and pulls open a drawer, finding the silver sunglasses that he stored there months ago. 

“I don’t remember you having those before,” his mother remarks as Seung Gil picks them up. The light in the room glances off the mirrored lenses. “Are they new?” 

“No, they’re not mine.” Without a case to store them in, Seung Gil places the sunglasses with his backpack. Carrying them would be better than potentially crushing them in his suitcase. “I need to return them to their owner.” 

“At the championship?” his mother says, surprised, “A figure skater?”

“Mm,” Seung Gil confirms as he flips his suitcases shut. 

“You rarely talk about other skaters,” his mother muses, “Ah, wait. There was that one boy while you were in America. Is it him?”

“No.” Seung Gil pulls the zipper on each of the bags closed and stacks them up against the wall. “That was years ago, Mom.” 

“Well, it’s important to build connections with others. It could even help you improve your skating,” his mother reasons. Her voice falls into her well-meaning, lecturing tone. “You should spend more time with him. That boy was one of the Grand Prix finalists, right? The one from Thailand?”

Seung Gil returns to his desk to pick up tea tea. He twirls the mug around in his hands. “He talks to me sometimes.” 

“Then your chances are good!” His mother gives him an encouraging smile. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a charming friend like him? He seems like such a nice boy.” 

“He’s friendly with everyone,” Seung Gil mumbles into the mug, “It isn’t anything special.” 

“You were so close though! You even sent pictures.” 

“He’s always taking pictures.” 

“Then why not—”

“ _Awwooo!_ ” 

Haru stands in the hallway, wiggling with impatience and pawing at the entrance into the room. Realizing that he’s kept her waiting, Seung Gil sets down his drink for the second time and crouches down onto his knees.

“Come here, Haru,” Seung Gil calls, holding out his arms. Ecstatic at the permission, the dog barrels into his chest, curling as close to him as possible. She noses his hands in an aggressive demand to be pet. When Haru tries and fails to crawl onto his lap, Seung Gil hooks his arms underneath her and lifts, picking the dog up as he stands. Haru wags her tail and licks her owner’s ear as she hangs over his shoulder. 

“Really,” his mother chuckles, “You treat her like a baby. She’s so big now, but still thinks that she’s small.” 

“Hm. That’s not a problem, right?” Seung Gil asks the dog. He gets a lick across his cheek as an answer. The mother yawns as she laughs at the pair and soon bids them good night, leaving to retire to sleep. Seung Gil knows that he probably do the same, but spends a while longer with Haru instead. As excited he is for the competition itself, tomorrow’s flight has him feeling uneasy. 

The Four Continents tends to be the least attended out of the ISU Championships, but the rise of non-European talent has it drawing greater attention this year. Katsuki Yuuri takes the media spotlight, of course, but Otabek Altin, Phichit, and JJ are right up there beside him. The hype has caused somewhat of a stir, and for the first time in a while, the Korea Skating Union is sending more than just one men’s single skater to compete. There was talk about it for a while, so the decision didn’t faze Seung Gil. Still, traveling with the senior who called him a demon, let alone sharing a room together, seems far from fun. 

“I just know that it’s going to be trouble,” Seung Gil says.

Haru blinks at him through tired eyes and sighs through her nose.

“Yeah, it could be worse.” He stares up at the ceiling while lying over his bed covers, the dog sprawled over his chest. “Maybe we can just…graciously ignore each other.” 

Haru rolls over, falling off her owner to instead curl up into her favorite sleeping position. It must be getting late. Seung Gil reaches for his phone on the night table to check the time. He just manages to grab hold of it when the screen lights up with a text notification. Curious, Seung Gil unlocks the phone and reads.

> **JJ:** save me i’m dying  (Tired Face )

Seung Gil huffs in amusement and turns over onto his stomach, using both thumbs to type a reply. 

> You should press the call button for an attendant then.
> 
> **JJ:** snooooooooowflaaaaaaakeeee
> 
> **JJ:** don’t be so meeeeeaaaaaan
> 
> Text like a proper person.
> 
> **JJ** : i’m going crazy 
> 
> **JJ:** do u kno how long a 19 hr flight is??
> 
> I would assume 19 hours.
> 
> **JJ:** FOREVER  (Tired Face )(Tired Face )(Tired Face )(Tired Face )
> 
> **JJ:** people r not meant to sit this long…
> 
> **JJ:** i can feel my whole body sagging 
> 
> **JJ:** turning into a lumpy flesh potato
> 
> That doesn’t make any sense and just sounds disgusting.
> 
> **JJ:** i’m too pretty to be a potato
> 
> **JJ:** tried walking laps around my section but a family complained
> 
> **JJ:** said i was scaring their baby 
> 
> lol
> 
> **JJ:** …

 There’s no immediate reply after that. Seung Gil frowns and sits up, wondering if the connection failed. 

> Did something happen?
> 
> **JJ:** OH
> 
> What?
> 
> **JJ:** I AM JUST SO PROUD 
> 
> **JJ:** RIGHT NOW
> 
> **JJ:** (Party Popper ) (Party Popper ) (Party Popper ) (Party Popper ) (Party Popper ) (Party Popper )
> 
> **JJ:** youuuuuuuuuuuu~~
> 
> What did I do?
> 
> The acronym?
> 
> **JJ:** i’m teaching you so well
> 
> It shouldn’t warrant surprise.
> 
> **JJ:** the drink cart is coming
> 
> **JJ:** i should celebrate wit champagne 
> 
> I don’t think they carry that option.
> 
> **JJ:** then i’ll celebrate wit sparkling water
> 
> **JJ:** don’t spoil the moment let me have this
> 
> **JJ:** i’m so jealous of ur short flight
> 
> My flight is tomorrow. 
> 
> **JJ:** yeah i remember u said
> 
> **JJ:** …wait
> 
> **JJ:** wat time is it in korea?

Looks like he finally realized.    

> 3:24 AM.
> 
> **JJ:** DAMNIT
> 
> **JJ:** shit i’m sorry. did i wake u?? 
> 
> I wasn’t sleeping.
> 
> My flight is early, so I took naps during the day.
> 
> **JJ:** when r u headed out?
> 
> The taxi is due in a couple hours.
> 
> I’m waiting with Haru, but she’s falling asleep on me.
> 
> **JJ:** dawww
> 
> **JJ:** I just got my water
> 
> **JJ:** A TOAST IN YOUR HONOR  (Bottle With Popping Cork )(Sparkles )
> 
> Fantastic.
> 
> **JJ:** shit i woke up papa
> 
> Did that you actually shout that out loud?
> 
> **JJ:** no i elbowed him
> 
> **JJ:** gah he wants to talk now
> 
> At least you won’t be bored now.
> 
> **JJ:** i needed a distraction but not this (Face With Cold Sweat )
> 
> **JJ:** txt u later
> 
> **JJ:** i’ll tell him u said hello
> 
> I didn’t say hello.
> 
> **JJ:** now u did  (Smiling Face With Open Mouth )
> 
> **JJ:** king jj out! 

A couple seconds later, a photo loads into the chat. JJ winks at the camera while holding a clear, plastic cup to his lips. The width of the shot captures the fizzy bubbles in the water, as well as the exaggerated tilt of his pinky finger pointing out. Seung Gil snorts and flops backward onto his bed. The impact shakes the mattress, eliciting a grumpy growl from Haru. 

“You’re still awake?” 

The Siberian Husky shuffles, curling into a tighter ball. She glares at her owner with one blue eye. 

“Ah, so it’s my fault. Sorry,” Seung Gil chuckles. He pats the back of her neck in apology and returns his attention to his phone. 

Moved by bored curiosity, Seung Gil starts scrolling through the chat, skimming the messages as they rewind on screen. There are a lot of photos, thanks to JJ’s penchant for selfies. There’s JJ, posing in front of the airplane that his current self is suffering in. JJ amidst the chaos of packing, wearing a viking beanie that he rediscovered in his closet. Again, another JJ, and another, and another. Narcissism aside, the Canadian athlete clearly knows how to handle a phone camera. Even when the photo is taken in humor, JJ seems know every angle that flatters himself best. He brings emphasis to his best features, like his strong jawline and the sharp bridge of his nose, and always has that irritating smile. 

In contrast, Seung Gil considers himself lucky if a photo has him looking happy at all. Through trial and error, the awkward Korean learned that feigned emotions don’t sit well on his face. Forcing a smile causes his eyebrows to furrow, creating an altogether sinister look. Perhaps there’s a secret trick to it? 

“Seung Gil, are you up?” A soft knock on his door accompanies the question. “The taxi will arrive soon.” 

Seung Gil blinks and sits up, startled by his grandmother’s voice. Had the hours passed that quickly? He rushes to get ready, perplexed by his off-kilter sense of time. The mystery works as both a curiosity and a distraction, helping him suffer through his family’s goodbyes and easing the stress of the hour-long car ride. When he approaches the meeting point at Incheon International Airport, his coach pins him with a suspicious stare. 

“Did something happen?” Min So asks in lieu of a greeting. 

“Nothing particular,” Seung Gil replies, rolling up with his two cases of luggage. He looks comical next to Min So with her single smaller suitcase, but she isn’t the one traveling with an arsenal of skate equipment.

“Hm,” Min So muses, “You look better than I thought you would.”

“I took a shower before I left,” Seung Gil says, taking a seat beside his coach.

“I meant your mood,” the woman clarifies. Even at this early hour, her eyes are clear and sharp. “Normally, you look ready to bury someone.”

That…sounds very accurate, to be honest. 

Seung Gil doesn’t understand the romanticism of airports. His grandmother’s dramas often use them as a stage for dramatic reunions, but neglect to feature an airport’s defining traits. The long queues at security checkpoints and the moody crowds, for instance. When the rest of the travel companions arrive, their group wastes no time getting to the departure gate. The flight to Taipei is short, barely amounting to two hours, but the before and after of shuffling between strangers is enough to make a mind go numb. It’s almost a relief to finally make it to baggage claim. At least, that is what Seung Gil felt until he realizes that he’s missing a suitcase. 

“Your luggage is due to arrive at twelve o-five!” 

The airline employee beams from across the counter with a smile perfected from years of customer service. The unfaltering expression looks so artificial that Seung Gil almost believes that he heard her wrong. 

“Would you care to check that again?” he asks.

“Certainly!” the employee agrees. Her gaze drops to her work station monitor as she enters the code on his baggage tag receipt. She repeats the same information as before. “Your luggage is aboard Korean Air 691, which is due to arrive at twelve o-five in the afternoon.”

“Why is his bag with a different airline?” Min So demands. She stands beside her student at the counter, indignant and looking for answers. 

“It seems that your flight’s cargo was at full capacity!” The employee looks up again, focusing her eyes forward. “Our protocol in such a dilemma is to run the luggage to the next available flight, regardless of company affiliation. We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but rest assured, your belongings are safe! If you provide an address, we can—” 

“No,” Seung Gil interrupts. He could guess the offer and is completely against the idea of leaving without the suitcase. “Can you guarantee that the plane will arrive at twelve o-five?”

“I can print out the flight information for your keeping!”

“Then I will wait to pick up the bag myself.” 

“What are you doing?” Min So says, switching to Korean, “We have your skate equipment, so just have the missing suitcase delivered to the hotel.” 

“That makes me uneasy,” Seung Gil replies. He accepts the printed paper from the counter and reads it.

> **KE 691** Operated by **KE (KOREAN AIR)**
> 
> Departure     **Seoul (ICN) Seoul/Incheon** **15FEB16    10:35** Local Time    Terminal No. : –  
>  Arrival         Taipei (TPE) Taiwan Taoyuan    15FEB1612:05 Local Time    Terminal No. : 1

“Even with delays,” Seung Gil says, eyeing the stamped time, “The wait should only take around two hours. I’ll keep my backpack with me and leave my equipment in your care.”

“Are you saying that I should leave you here?” Min So asks, eyes narrowed in skepticism. 

Seung Gil frowns at her reaction. “I’m not a kid. I can stay by myself.” 

Min So doesn’t look happy, but she knows as well he does that hotel check-in is the main priority. With incoming athletes, journalists, and fan clubs, arriving too late could have them stuck in the lobby for hours. “Did you permit my name to register your check-in?”

“Of course,” Seung Gil confirms, unstrapping his backpack. He digs through a pocket for his hotel reservation paper.

“I expected as much,” Min So sighs, taking and reading over the details. She folds the paper and tucks it into her coat. “Call and give me an update at noon. If you don’t, I’ll send security after you.” 

“Alright,” Seung Gil says. He feels a bit insulted by her lack of faith, but supposes that it’s better to be safe rather than sorry. He follows Min So back to where the rest of their group is sitting, and waits as she announces the change in plans. His usual travel companions accept the news with sympathy, but his soon-to-be roommate frowns and stands up.

“Wait,” the older skater insists. 

Seung Gil stares, not knowing how to respond to their first conversation of the day. The senior’s frown deepens at the silence. 

“You’re going to be here alone?” he says, “You barely speak English!”

“He’s fluent, actually,” Min So corrects.

“No way,” the senior athlete denies, “He always sounds like a robot in his interviews.”

“I dislike interviews,” Seung Gil says in his defense.

“So what? You half-ass them?” The older figure skater scowls. “What kind of shitty reason is— _ugh_.” He yanks the handles on his suitcases and starts dragging them as he stomps away. “Whatever.”

Seung Gil stares at his angry teammate, feeling a new motive for staying behind. So much for graciously ignoring each other. 

“Don’t mind it,” Min So says, grabbing her own luggage and the case of skate equipment. “The early flight probably tired him out.” 

“He hates me,” Seung Gil responds. 

Min So quirks a smile at her student’s flat reply. “Well, I’d hate you too if I were him.” 

…Oh.

Seung Gil blinks and then points his gaze elsewhere, finding it difficult to look at her after hearing something like that.

“Just think from his perspective,” Min So continues, “Skating for years in a country that doesn’t encourage it. With Russia up north and Japan down south, the difference almost feels unfair. Then some kid shows up, winning national gold at age fifteen. Suddenly the country does care, but all because of him. How frustrated would you be?” 

The question makes something tighten in his chest. 

“I don’t know,” Seung Gil says, “Should I care?” 

There’s a pause before Min So speaks again. “Seung Gil—”

“I’m going to get coffee,” Seung Gil mumbles, already walking away before the words finish. He feels rude for his abrupt leave, but not guilty. Four minutes into being alone, he realizes a problem. 

He doesn’t know where the food court is. 

Finding a directory of the airport is simple, but deciphering it takes two to three tries. Seung Gil takes a photo of the floor plans and uses it as a reference as he navigates a route. 

He seems to be in the right place, but one floor below? 

Seung Gil swivels around in place, trying to get a read on his surroundings. He spots a sign indicating a staircase, and follows the arrows until he finds it. Halfway up the steps, his phone chimes with a text alert. Seung Gil checks to see if it’s his coach, and unlocks the screen after confirming it isn’t. 

> **JJ:** where r u?
> 
> I’m in the airport.
> 
> **JJ:** where??
> 
> I’m going to the food court in Terminal 1.
> 
> Why?
> 
> **JJ:** lololol

Seung Gil works on typing another question. With his eyes trained on his phone, he doesn’t notice the puddle until it’s too late. Instead of planting onto the next step, his foot slips, upsetting his balance. Seung Gil stumbles and tries to regain his footing, swaying forward then back, and back…

 Shit. 

As his weight slips and pitches backward, Seung Gil grabs for the handrail, hoping to stop his fall. His fingers barely manage to hold it, but then his momentum swings sideways, slamming his back against the metal bar. His backpack softens the pain of impact, but the handrail shakes and slips from of his grip. He can’t get his feet under him. Seung Gil twists, preferring a broken arm over a broken spine, and braces himself to hit—

—a soft, but firm cushion? 

“Gotcha! _Whew_. That was a close one.”  

Seung Gil blinks at the soft, red fabric pressed against his face. He pats it, finds that it’s covering something, and pulls his head back enough to discover a shoulder. From the shoulder, he traces a torso, and from there he jerks his eyes up. Looking back at him is a face that he didn’t expected to see this soon. 

“Knew I recognized you, princess,” JJ says, flashing a roguish grin. He has a hand anchored on the handrail and the other arm wrapped tightly around Seung Gil’s waist. The stairs are still a long way behind them, and Seung Gil feels anger fill the absence of adrenaline. 

“Are you stupid?” the Korean athlete hisses, clutching the other’s sweatshirt. By some miraculous fortune, his cell phone is still in one hand. “I could have knocked you down.” 

“Wow. I missed you too.” 

“What are you doing here?” Seung Gil demands, “Your flight ended hours ago.” 

“Yeah, it should have,” JJ bemoans, “But storm clouds, air traffic turbulence, and _ugh_. I think something inside me _died_. My mouth tastes terrible.” 

“It smells terrible,” Seung Gil says with a grimace, “I told you to carry mints.” 

“Yeah.” JJ scrunches his nose. “Realized I forgot after finding my seat. You okay? Can you stand?”

Seung Gil realizes that he’s still leaning against his rescuer and hurries to right himself. “I must be heavy.”

“Not the first time I held you,” JJ replies, unfazed. He gripes the other by the elbow until Seung Gil is steady on his own feet. “You were heavier as a deadweight drunk.” 

Now that he’s farther than a few inches from the other, Seung Gil realizes that there are changes to the Canadian athlete. JJ doesn’t look thinner, but his clothes hang off him differently. His complexion looks ashy and there are faint dark circles under his eyes. 

“Getting lost in my good looks?” JJ asks with a smirk. 

“You look terrible,” Seung Gil replies. 

JJ bursts into laughter. “Well, I’m only mortal. Not everyone has perfect skin like you.” He steps around Seung Gil and skips several steps ahead, avoiding the puddle. “You said the food court, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll treat you.” JJ stops and does a well-balanced turnaround. He smiles and points a thumb up over his shoulder. “I owe you coffee anyway. And I _need_ coffee right now. Ugh.” 

“What about your parents?” Seung Gil asks, starting a cautious climb. 

“They left first,” JJ says with a shrug. He resumes going up after Seung Gil passes his step. “I’ve got time to kill and it was luck that I caught you. Uh… _huh_.”

“That’s a terrible pun,” Seung Gil scoffs as they finally clear the staircase. 

“Yeah, it is,” JJ replies with a snicker. 

The food court spans the entire floor and features a mixed line-up of local cuisine and and big-name chain restaurants. JJ bumps Seung Gil’s shoulder and nods to the Starbucks in the far corner of the options. “So. Coffee?” 

Seung Gil looks at the Starbucks and then back to JJ. 

“Sure,” he says, feeling agreeable to the offer. JJ brightens as if the single word restored his energy. The reaction conjures a comparison to a puppy, and from there Seung Gil can’t help but categorize all the other ways that JJ resembles an exuberant dog.  

He even has Siberian eyes. 

Seung Gil stops walking when he realizes that JJ isn’t keeping pace. He turns around and frowns at the thunderstruck expression on the other’s face. “What is it? Did you change your mind?”

“You…” JJ staggers forward, eyes gleaming in excitement. “You _smiled_.” 

Seung Gil waits, and then nothing. 

“…Is that all?” 

“You never smile!” JJ throws his hands in passionate and vague gestures. “Or you do, and it’s like that tree-falling sound-thing. If no one sees it, did it even really happen? You don’t smile in any pictures! I feel like I witnessed a miracle.” 

Seung Gil does his best to follow the jumbled explanation. “I don’t smile for photos.” 

“Why not?” JJ asks, calming down, “Too much effort?” 

Seung Gil clenches his jaw and then answers. “No. I just don’t.” 

“Well, to each their own,” JJ declares. He stretches his arms as they enter the Starbucks. “Stuff is nobody’s business anyway. Oh hey, they have seats here!” 

The café looked small from the outside, but optimizes the floorspace to have tables apart from the food court. Seung Gil admires the neat order of shelves before getting drawn to the glass pastry display. The foods are the same as in any other Starbucks, but he notices what looks like a tiny bundt cake in the far back. It stands out as the only item set on top a red doily. 

“That’s the molten lava cake!” 

Seung Gil looks over the display case to see a barista standing across the counter. The green-aproned employee smiles and presses up the bridge of his glasses.

“We were selling it as a Valentine’s special,” he explains, “It has a hidden layer of strawberry sauce. Since the holiday ended, I was planning to take it out. Would you like it?”

“No,” Seung Gil says. He glances over the wall-mounted menu. “One grande-sized cinnamon dolce latte with soy milk, and…a double-shot Americano.”

JJ jerks his head to stare at him. “Woah, what—” 

“Would you also like that as a grande?” the barista asks. 

“Yes,” Seung Gil says.  

“—Hey!” JJ gapes as Seung Gil swipes a credit card at the register. “ **I** was going to pay for us!” 

“‘I’m older,” Seung Gil says with calm reason.

“What does that matter?” JJ protests. The taller figure skater pouts as he glares at the printing receipt.  

“You seem to need the caffeine more than I do,” Seung Gil says, signing the thin slip of paper, “I didn’t exaggerate when I said that you look terrible.” 

The barista coughs into his sleeve while preparing the shots of espresso. Seung Gil looks at him, but the employee ducks down to open a mini fridge. 

“Even remembered my drink order,” JJ mumbles. 

“It’s difficult to forget something that vile.” 

JJ stuffs his hands into his pockets as he see-saws back and forth on his heels. “At least let me grab our drinks? Pick a table and I’ll come over.” 

Seung Gil opens his mouth to object, but gets interrupted by excited shouting.

“The tables by the mural have really good lighting!” the barista says over the sound of steaming milk.

Targeted with two expectant faces, Seung Gil sighs and turns foot, following the barista’s recommendation. He selects the table second from the entrance and tests the chairs for unsteady legs. He unhooks his backpack and is hanging it over the back of his seat when JJ arrives carrying more than just their drinks. 

“Payback!” JJ declares, setting down an unexpected plate of desserts. He slides into the opposite seat with a proud grin. 

“What is this?”

“Hm. Let’s see.” JJ passes over a plastic fork while pointing at each pastry on the ceramic dish. “Blueberry scone, lemon bread, and the specialty lava cake that you were eyeing.” 

Seung Gil frowns. “These cost more than your coffee.” 

“It’s my revenge,” JJ says, puffing his chest and looking pleased. 

“What if I don’t eat them?” Seung Gil asks. He watches as a series of conflicted expressions cross the other’s face. 

“Then…” JJ leans forward, bracing against his elbows. “Accept them as a late congrats? Special service for Mister National Champion.” He raps his knuckles against the table. “Winning by nearly forty points. That deserves a cake or three.” 

“Only one of these is a cake,” Seung Gil corrects. He picks up his coffee and talks into the drink. “It’s not as impressive as you make it to seem. And that title sounds more suited for your taste than mine.”

“Pfft. Mister and Mister National Champion? What a mouthful,” JJ snickers, picking up his own cup, “That makes it sound like we’re…” He trails off, leaving the sentence incomplete. 

“As if I’d marry someone like you,” Seung Gil snorts, “Don’t fuel my nightmares.”

“Oh?” JJ smirks and flutters his eyelashes over his drink. “You dream of me?”

Seung Gil scoffs. “You in the real world is enough for me.” 

JJ gasps and leans a cheek upon one hand. “Aw, careful! That was almost sweet of you.”

Seung Gil drops his attention down to the plate. He uses the fork to isolate the lava cake from the other pastries. It’s soft from being heated in a microwave, and though he knows it will make a mess, he wants to taste it while the liquid chocolate is still warm. He sinks the fork in and breaks off a piece, taking care to avoid drips as he guides the bite into his mouth.  

The cake must have been popular. The strawberry sauce blends nicely with the chocolate. He thought it would be slightly sour like jam, but the consistency and sweetness is more similar to puree. Seung Gil swallows and helps himself to another mouthful. 

The sound of a camera shutter interrupts his bliss. 

“Sorry.” JJ offers a weak smile. The apology and his raised cell phone incriminate him as the source of the sound. “I couldn’t help it. You can delete it if you want, but it came out great. You wanna see?” He flips his phone before Seung Gil could answer, sharing the photo captured on the screen. 

The lighting in the image creates a warm glow around Seung Gil, who has his chin tucked down and gaze pointed aimlessly to the side. His eyes are half-open, peaking out from under his lashes, while his lips are curled in the shape of an unmistakable smile.

It feels like a waste to delete the photo.  

“Keep it,” Seung Gil says, picking up his coffee. 

“You sure?” JJ asks, uncertain, “You said smiling wasn’t your thing.”

“I said to keep it,” Seung Gil assures. He taps his fingers against the side of his cup. “I don’t hate to smile, so it’s fine.” 

JJ lowers his arm and turns the screen back to himself. “Then is it okay if I post it online?” 

“Go ahead,” Seung Gil says, resuming to the cake. He’s hallway through with the dessert when JJ slides over his phone across the table, this time showing off the photo from Instagram.   

> **Jjleroy!15** caught this guy after touchdown!  (Airplane Arriving ≊ Airplane Arrival) #taipei #4cc2016 #coffeebreak

Seung Gil huffs in amusement. “I thought we agreed that it was a terrible pun.”

“But bad puns are the best puns!” JJ says with a grin.  

 Seung Gil traces over the photo again, noting that there’s a subtle change to the colors. Did JJ use a filter? His eyes wander over the screen until he notices the tiny profile photo sitting in the top left corner. The image is small, but JJ smiles while wearing a familiar pair of sunglasses.

“I have the thing that you lent to me,” Seung Gil says as he remembers. He scoots back in his chair to reach over for his backpack.

“Oh?” JJ says, perking up in his seat, “Sweet. Thanks.” 

Seung Gil unzips the inner pocket where he’d stored the sunglasses for safe-keeping, but feels something wrong as soon as his fingers close around the metal frame. He frowns and places the accessory in the middle the table. Instead of sitting in one piece, the sunglasses collapse, caving in on a broken nose bridge. 

There’s a moment of silence as the two figure skaters stare.

“It was an accident,” Seung Gil blurts. His thoughts pause and skip backward, trying to catch a cause for the damage. “When I fell—my back, it hit—”

“I was there, snowflake. I totally don’t blame you.” JJ reaches over to pick up the sunglasses. He lets out a low whistle when only half of the frame come back in his hand. 

Seung Gil swallows, feeling shame in his stomach. “I’ll find the same pair.”

“Eh, that’ll be tough.” JJ twirls the twisted metal between his fingers, fascinated by its mutilated bend. “These were limited edition Ray Bans.” 

“I’m sorry,” Seung Gil repeats. 

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” JJ smiles to reassure the other, but Seung Gil refuses to meet his eyes. The smile fades from JJ’s face as he takes in the awkward tension. His eyes flick to the ruined sunglasses and light up with the start of an idea. 

“Well, if you really want to make up for it…” JJ leans across the table with a smirk. “Then let’s go shopping.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • The 2015-16 Four Continents Championship took place at the Taipei Arena in Taiwan.   
>  • The Four Continents Championships allows each eligible country to send up to three entries per discipline.   
>  • Figure skating is an expensive sport and it is a common money-saving practice for athletes to share rooms at competitions.   
>  • Incheon International Airport services the Seoul Capital Area in South Korea.   
>  • Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport services Taipei and the northern area in Taiwan.   
>  • South Korea has a strong age hierarchy system, and it’s common for seniors to treat their juniors to meals.
> 
> It’s the reunion of our two dorks! (ﾉ⌒▽⌒)ﾉﾞ♪  
>  I think I implied it well enough, but just to clarify—there’s a time skip of two months since the last chapter. The Grand Prix Final took place in early December and the Four Continents starts in the middle of February. This means that the national championships of each country and European Championship have already ended, since they finish by the end of January. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! A lot will be happening in the next chapter. Oooh, the Four Continents will be fun~


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Skinship_ (スキンシップ) - [Japanese] (n.) bonding through the intimacy of touch

As the curtain closes behind him, Seung Gil stares down his adversaries with grim regard. He counts them, finding nine in total. The number seems excessive, but could be average for all he knows. He doesn’t have much experience in these matters, after all.

“Take your time, okay? No rush,” JJ cheers on from the other side of the door. He means to be supportive, but the effect falls flat when the current predicament is his fault.

Seung Gil might as well get things over with. Heaving a sigh, he toes off his shoes and starts the task of undressing. Outfit changes occur regularly for figure skating, but that didn’t make them any less of a pain. He shucks off his coat and scarf to lay them on the bench provided in the changing room. His sweater and jeans follow soon after, then he picks up the first pair of denims and shoves a foot inside.

When JJ had chided him for wearing the same outfit from Moscow, Seung Gil replied that he hadn’t realized, nor even cared.

“You could still switch things around,” JJ had insisted as he led their march through the Taipei 101 Mall. He seemed bothered, but not enough to be concerned, and browsed nearby displays with half of his attention. “Use accessories to change the mood, or streamline the look with black denim—”

“I only own one pair of jeans,” Seung Gil had said, unbidden.

“You— _what_?” JJ had whirled around at that, eyes wide in disbelief. “That’s not enough! Don’t tell me that you wear those year round and out of season!”

“Why would seasons matter?”

The look JJ had given him expressed complete and utter devastation. As the shock wore off, the expression shifted, taking on the hard edge of determination.

“We’re fixing this today,” JJ had said, voice solemn and deep as if declaring an oath. Then, true to his habit of helping in uninvited ways, he’d whisked the other into a clothing store, resulting in the Korean’s current confinement with a stack of jeans.

Seung Gil questions his own acceptance of going along with this, mulling over his dislike and _not dislike_ of the situation. His bewilderment keeps him distracted through the chore of pulling the jeans on, so it’s only when he tugs the fabric up past his hips that he finally notices something odd.

“Everything alright?” JJ shouts from outside. The sounds of movement stopped a while ago, causing him to wonder if his friend is alright. He shuffles his weight from one foot to the other, growing curious at the lack of answer. “Snowflake, hey—”

The curtain to the changing room slides open with a shudder.

Well.

Damn.

“Why, _hello_.” JJ leans back to get a fuller look at the view presented before him. His lips twist into a self-satisfied smirk. Skinny jeans were an obvious, good call. He congratulates himself on the excellent choice. JJ beckons with a hand for the other to come out, but Seung Gil doesn’t budge past the doorframe. JJ quirks an eyebrow and chuckles. “What, feeling shy?”

Seung Gil glances down at himself with a frown. “These are smaller than my size.”

“Well, of _course_ they are,” JJ declares. He squares his shoulders and rests his hands against his hips, exuding the confidence of a man well-informed in fashion. “Denims loosen up after a while, so sizing down helps keep the shape you want.”

“The shape?” Seung Gil repeats, puzzled.

“Take a look for yourself,” JJ suggests, jabbing a thumb at the outside mirror. It has a trifold design, standing taller and wider than the mirrors inside the changing rooms. Seung Gil seems reluctant, but moves to follow the advice. He walks past JJ to approach the mirror and studies his reflection in the better light.

JJ takes the time to conduct his own study.

Because **damn**.

The decisive difference between a good pair of jeans and an _excellent_ pair of jeans relies on the backside. JJ was aware of Seung Gil’s exemplary derrière, but everything else takes him a bit by surprise. The blue denim clings to toned thighs and shapely calves, mapping a smooth and compelling silhouette. It’s a visual that draws the eyes to look up and down and _up_ —over curving muscles to a trim waist that slopes out and widens to a set of sharp shoulders. 

To think that Seung Gil claims to not care about his looks.

What a tragedy.

“So? What do you think?” JJ asks, anxious to know the verdict.

Seung Gil does a half turn in front of the mirror, bends to test the denim’s flexibility, and then straightens to face JJ with a look of pleasant surprise. “I like them.”

“Great!” JJ can’t help the proud grin on his face. He crosses the floor in quick steps and hooks an arm around Seung Gil’s shoulders. “These would go well with your baggy sweaters. Even simple shirts like this”—he taps the back where the neckline starts and drags the touch to the waist—“would look…ah?”

Seung Gil jerks away to the side, ducking under and out of the arm. His face is pinched with obvious discomfort. “Too close.”

Huh.

If JJ thinks about it, did he even get the okay to be so touchy?

…Oops.

“Nah, my bad,” JJ says in apology. He moves his empty arm behind him and rubs the back his neck. “I’ve got two siblings and, like, twenty cousins. Grew a habit of sticking close to others.”

“It’s fine,” Seung Gil mumbles, drawing close to the mirror again. JJ shoves his hands into his pockets before continuing with tips to styling an outfit. The pattern repeats for each set of jeans, regardless of whether Seung Gil buys them in the end. Knowing what to wear and how to wear them is useful knowledge, after all. Seung Gil even seems to be enjoying himself, which is a tremendous boost to JJ’s confidence.

Though known for his quiet and aloof nature, the Korean figure skater is surprisingly easy to read. His voice become soft when either happy or pensive, and tucking his chin means that he’s feeling uneasy. There’s also the hilarious habit of staring. Whenever something catches his fancy, Seung Gil looks at it for an absurdly long time. JJ mistook it for ‘thinking silence’ at first—that’s another thing—but realized its true nature after getting coffee at the airport.

It could be the quirks or his candid personality, but something about the guy is just…refreshing.

“I’m hungry,” Seung Gil says as they finally leave the mall. Night falls early during the winter, but it’s still a surprise to see the pitch-dark sky overhead. The air is cold as they step into the street, but it’s nothing compared to the wind in Canada. JJ breathes deeply, feeling an odd relief from being outside. The worst effect of a long flight is the restless itch of cabin fever. Seems he still hasn’t shaken it off.

“Want to take a walk?” JJ suggests, hoping to wear out his lingering discomfort, “There’s a night market around here. I heard some of the shoppers talk about it and have an idea on where it is.”

“How far away is it?” Seung Gil asks, showing interest in the idea.

“A few streets away, but an easy distance, I think.” JJ cranes his neck to survey the area, using buildings and landmarks to establish their bearings. “Yay or nay?”

Seung Gil frowns before giving his unenthused answer. “Yay.”

JJ smiles and cuts a path for them through the crowd. “Aw, c’mon! Try talking in a cute voice for me.”

“I refuse.”

“I’ll return the favor?”

“ **No**.”

JJ laughs as he swings his shopping bags, and feels good doing it so he laughs some more. Seung Gil gives him a curious look, but comments nothing as they continue their walk, and the simple acceptance in thatmakes something in JJ’s chest relax and expand.

“Is it much further?” Seung Gil asks after the fifteen-minute mark of their walk. He doesn’t look tired, but has an air of impatience.

“We should see it soon,” JJ replies, scanning the street ahead of them. He sways towards the left as they approach the corner of a crossroads. “Last turn here and straigh—turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around!” JJ insists in an urgent whisper. He spins on his foot, knocking into his friend behind him, and keeps scrabbling until the both of them are back around the building that they just turned.

“Why—“ Seung Gil grunts as his back hits the brick wall. “What are y—”

“ _Shhh_!” JJ raises a finger to his lips, and then leans around the corner for a second glimpse at the scene. Standing on the sidewalk, around ten steps ahead, are two young men holding hands while toe to toe. The lightning in the street is dim, but there’s no mistake in who they are. Leo stands out with his tan skin and droopy eyes, and that flushed, round face could only belong to Guang Hong Ji. JJ hears a shuffle beside him and glances to see Seung Gil taking a peek as well. He lowers his voice to a gleeful whisper. “See? The kids are on a date!”

Seung Gil huffs. “Leo de la Iglesia is the same age as you. And…why are we hiding?”

JJ snorts and raises an eyebrow at him. “We can’t just strut out and say hi. Instant mood killer. They’ll hate us forever.”

Seung Gil gives him a frown. “Crossing the street is an option.”

“The street is empty,” JJ points out, “Good idea, but they’ll notice us for sure.”

“They seem too occupied to notice anything right now.”

JJ muffles his chuckle. “Do you really want to risk it? Tiny seems like a sweet kid, but—”

“ **Why?!** ”

Seung Gil and JJ exchange wide-eyed looks before huddling again over the edge of the corner. Guang Hong has a hand against Leo’s chest, keeping the other an arm’s distance away. His expression is creased with hurt and anger, a complete departure from the shy affection before. The abrupt change leaves the two onlookers stunned.

Leo circles fingers around his boyfriend’s wrist, holding the hand that is pressed against his chest. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I promise not to do it again.”

“That’s not—!” Guang Hong yanks back his arm and glares down at the sidewalk. “This shouldn’t be complicated. I don’t know why we we’re like this.”

_‘I don’t know why we’re like this, JJ.’_

JJ inhales sharply and Leo flinches at the foreboding words. 

“Guang Hong?” Leo says, raising a tentative hand out to his boyfriend. Guang Hong shrinks away, squeezing in his shoulders to make himself smaller. The rejection makes the older teen flinch, and the two of them look at each other with growing dread in their eyes.

Guang Hong’s voice wavers as he tries to speak. “I wait and you don’t…it doesn’t…”

_‘I wait, but it doesn’t get better.’_

“I don’t want to say it, Leo, but maybe—”

_‘—maybe we should take time and—’_

“ **Hey!** ”

JJ gulps in air as the word echoes down the street and then realizes, with shock, that the shout had come from _his own_ mouth. His moment of impulse had even moved his feet, taking him away from his hiding spot and out into the open. Leo and Guang Hong gape at him. JJ stares back, swallows down his surprise, and prepares to do what he does best.

Improvise.

“What’s up, guys!” JJ crosses his arms over his chest and beams with a perfect smile. “Funny meeting you here. Must be your lucky day!”

“JJ,” Leo says in disbelief.

“The one and only!” The Canadian athlete lifts out his arms and then dramatically pulls them close into his signature pose. He throws in a wink as a bonus. “JJ, the King!”

“Yeah, I see that,” Leo sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t,” Guang Hong says in quiet voice. He’s covering half of his face with his hands in an attempt to contain his embarassment. “I didn’t see him coming at all.”

“I got the jump on you, eh?” JJ says with a laugh, “Stealth is one of my talents, you know.”

“This street is quiet, but I didn’t hear you.” Leo frowns. “Where did you come from?”

“Hey, now!” JJ says, making an exaggerated gesture of dismissal, “Can’t be giving up my secrets to you, can I?”

Leo doesn’t lose his skeptical expression and works his jaw while deciding on words. “You weren’t…did you hear what we were…wha— _Seung Gil_?!”

JJ blinks and turns to see his friend fast-approaching, shopping bags swinging violently at his side. Seeing his own bags being carried as well, JJ grins and starts to wave, only to stop when he realizes that his friend isn’t slowing down. He takes a step aside to make room, but Seung Gil follows him, pressing into his space and hooking an arm with one of his own. The sharp-eyed athlete barely spares a glance at their fellow competitors. “Good evening.”

“Good…evening?” Guang Hong returns uncertainly.

“Let’s go,” Seung Gil says, and that’s all the warning JJ gets before getting dragged along and away. He stumbles at the first step, surprised by Seung Gil’s strength, but then matches the brisk pace enough to throw a jaunty salute over his shoulder.

“Later, guys!” JJ shouts to the two figure skaters left behind. The twin expressions of disbelief have him biting the inside of his cheek. His composure holds out for a commendable minute before the reality of their escape sinks in. Then he’s struggling to stay upright as he bursts into laughter. “ _Good evening_! Really? That was the best you could come up with?”

The edges of Seung Gil’s ears are red. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”

JJ clutches his chest and gasps in air between each guffaw. Seung Gil grunts at the added weight as his taller companion uses their linked arms for support. “ _Ahahahahahahaha—ckkh_! _Hic_!” 

Seung Gil stops walking and stares as JJ starts hacking up coughs. “Did you choke on your own saliva?” 

“No!” JJ wheezes, quick to deny despite the pain in his lungs, “It was the air or some— _hic!_ ” He slaps a hand over his mouth, but the sound escapes anyway.

“…You gave yourself the hiccups.”

JJ knows that it won’t help his case, but he again tries to deny what they both know is true. “No, I didn— _hic!_ ” He tries to speak around the jump in his throat, but his chest shudders and sends another zip. “ _Hic!_ ”

Seung Gil quietly untangles his arm and resumes their progress along the street. “There should be water at the night market.”

“Damn it, this— _hic!_ —sucks.” JJ tries holding his breath, but his body keeps jolting from the suppressed hiccups and he gives up. “Quit — _hic!_ — laughing at me.”

Seung Gil keeps his eyes pointed straight ahead. “I’m not laughing.”

JJ pouts and focuses his glare at the tilted corner of the other’s mouth. “You dirty liar, I see you— _hic!_ —smiling.”

“I don’t think smiling categorizes as a type of laughter.” Seung Gil tilts to look fully at him and _smirks_. “I could be wrong. I’m not the native English-speaker between us.”

JJ has too many words that he wants to say at once. “You little— _hic!_ —I had you wrong, you’re such a sneaky— _hic!_ —better watch yourself, ‘cuz I’m gonna— _hic!_ — **damn it**!”

“Having trouble?” Seung Gil asks, not sounding the least bit sorry. Funny enough, JJ doesn’t feel bad about it, too thrown for a loop to retaliate in his usual way.

He’s being _teased_ by **Seung Gil Lee**.

Mister Ice-Heart No-Fanservice.

The South Korean favorite who never smile for cameras.

His face must be doing something strange, because the smirk on Seung Gil’s face twists and grows wider.

“Just you wait, I’ll make that trouble doub— _hic!_ ”

JJ shuts up at the end of that last hiccup, his teeth clanking together hard. He doesn’t finish the word. Instead, he fills his lungs with air and focuses on holding everything in. He failed before, but if anything, he’s stubborn.

“Do you think those two will be alright?” Seung Gil asks.

“Hm?” JJ takes a moment to connect the question, then releases a whoosh of breath. “You mean Leo and Guang Hong? They’ll be— _hic!_ —fine. Leo’s the sorta guy who always— _hic!_ —chases problems until they’re fixed.”

Seung Gil passes him an inquisitive look. “You seem to know him well.”

JJ chuckles. “I trained in Colorado— _hic!_ —Springs, y’know? We had the same coach for a short— _hic!_ —while. He’s a cool guy. Awesome karaoke skills.”

“The two of you are friends?” Seung Gil offers him back his shopping bags.

“We were rinkmates!” JJ takes the bagged purchases with a thanks. “And the same age, so we— _hic!_ —spent a bit of time together. He looks— _hic!_ —quiet, but he’s got a bold personality. Kinda like Otabek, though Otabek is more like you.”

Seung Gil’s expression furrows. “Like me?”

“That! You see, _that_!” JJ reaches and pokes a finger between Seung Gil’s eyebrows. “You guys keep doing that like it’s your default face or something.”

Seung Gil twitches and tilts away from the offending finger with a grimace.

Ah, right. The no-touchy thing.

But judging from the rescue stunt, maybe the guy wasn’t totally shy? It’s weird that Seung Gil hadn’t complained before back in Moscow, and JJ was definitely less tolerated back then.

Tolerance…should he measure it?

The curious teen leans in with his next step, bumping arms ever so slightly. There’s no reaction to the brief contact, so JJ grows bolder and closer until he can vaguely feel body heat through their pressed jackets. Should he try a shoulder hug? JJ slips a little behind Seung Gil and lifts his arm to stretch it out and—

“If you push me off the sidewalk, I will take you with me.”

JJ drops his hand and snorts. “Hey, don’t make me out as a villain. I was just trying to tou—”

‘ _I was just trying to touch your body_ ’ doesn’t sound so good, actually.

“—ouaaaake these!” JJ grabs for the thin straps of Seung Gil’s shopping bags and takes them into custody. “Haha!”

Seung Gil looks down at his now empty hand and then to JJ with his doubled burden. “I don’t understand your benefit from this.”

“Repaying the favor!” JJ gloats, puffing his chest, “This is my revenge.”

“Revenge again, is it?” Seung Gil pockets his unoccupied hands and huffs. “They finally stopped.”

“Huh?” JJ takes a sweep of the area, but nobody stands out to him. “Who did?”

Seung Gil lifts his chin in vague indication at JJ. “Your hiccups.”

JJ blinks and raises a hand to his throat. “Oh! Woah, I’m cured! What’d you do? Magic?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Seung Gil says with a shrug, “I just kept you talking until you forgot.”

“But that _is_ doing something,” JJ chuckles. He raise a hand for another try at the reach-and-hug, but then notices the noise and crowd density straight ahead to their left. “Hey, is that…?”

“I think so, “Seung Gil agrees.

Beyond an overarching street gate is the sought-after night market. It’s smaller than the ones from JJ’s past visits to Taipei, but alive with activity all the same. Vendors tightly line both lengths of the street, spilling lights that cast a bright, inviting yellow over everything within the narrow space. The path is filled with people traveling to either end of the market, and the air is thick with different sounds and aromas. The smell and sight of food, though, is what tugs his attention the most. JJ turns to ask Seung Gil what he’d like to try first, only to discover the said person already queuing in a short line.

“What’s this for?” JJ asks, joining the wait.

“Fried chicken,” Seung Gil answers as he fishes for his wallet. Both of them place an order at the counter and soon walk away with a serving each. The chicken is bite-sized and boneless, making it easy to eat on the go. JJ munches as they trudge onward through the market, enjoying the simple fun of being a tourist. There’s something to see wherever he looks—food, clothing, accessories, and housewares. His eyes pass over a table display of hairpins, move to the neighboring merchant, and then stop.

“Do you see that?” JJ exclaims, grabbing Seung Gil’s jacket. He jostles his friend in excitement, interrupting his attempt to eat. Seung Gil scowls when his food misses his mouth and shakes off the hand latched onto his back.

“Don’t do that,” the shorter man grumbles, swiping the pepper-salt seasoning off his cheek.

“But look!” JJ says with urgency. He rushes into a shop filled with character merchandise and nearly tackles the display rack of socks. Rows of Disney characters and superheroes sway from their hooks, but it’s the section at the bottom that has JJ’s attention. The cartoonish faces could be characters from a Japanese anime, but the bespectacled boy, gray-haired man, and smirking blond bore uncanny resemblance to real people he knew. JJ crouches to check the tags for the manufacture’s name and almost spits when he sees the white letters stitched along the ankles. “They even have their _names_.”

Seung Gil cautiously follows him inside and bends his neck to see what has JJ so excited. He blinks when he sees the socks. “Are those legal to sell?”

“Probably…no?” JJ swipes a ‘Yuri’ set from the rack and turns the leopard-print socks over in his hands. “Can’t find a brand name. I’ve never seen these before, so maybe they only made a few? A hobby business?”

Seung Gil hums and edges around the display rack.

“It’s nice,” JJ muses wistfully, “You don’t see this sort of thing for figure skating, not often. The celebrity couple and Ice Fairy prodigy make sense as choices, but I kinda wish there were more.”

There’s silence in the small corner of the retail shop. JJ starts to wonder if Seung Gil left when he hears him from the opposite side of the rack. “This one looks like you.”

“… **What**?”

JJ springs to his feet and into action, rounding the double-sided display with clumsy excitement. He catches the socks that Seung Gil tosses to him and gawks. The cerise pink color is dotted with tiny red roses, interrupted by dark scarlet at the toes, heel, and ankle. Front and center of the design is a miniature, winky-faced _him_ , and the flirty expression of his sock-self has JJ overwhelmingly charmed. “This is amazing. It’s _too_ amazing. I’m _adorable_.”

“Christophe Giacometti, Otabek Altin, Phichit.” Seung Gil browses through the selections, reciting the name of every figure skater he finds. “Michele is here as well. These may be based on the past two Grand Prix Finals.”

“Hey, wait.” The Canadian athlete removes two pairs of ‘JJ’ socks from a hook, uncovering a soft pink ‘Guang Hong’ pair underneath. “Tiny’s here. If your theory was right, it should’ve been Cao Bin.”

“This doesn’t make sense then,” Seung Gil says with a frown.

“They could just be playing favorites, you know?” JJ hunts for more rose-patterned socks. He’s browsing through rows of smiling figure skaters when he discovers a face with an indifferent frown. A grin widens across his face when he sees it and calls for Seung Gil’s attention as he waves his find in the air. “Hey, snowflake~ guess what I have~?”

Seung Gil glances over at JJ and blinks at the socks being shown off to him. They’re blue against dark blue, with white dog bones scattered over the lighter shade. If the passive expression and the lap-lounging dog weren’t enough, the name along the ankle makes character’s identity unquestionable.

“You should get these,” JJ says with delight. He wiggles the socks as if making them dance. “They even included Haru!”

Seung Gil opens his mouth and then closes it, hilariously at a loss for a words. Dark eyes flicker from the socks to JJ’s grin and then to the stack of bold pinks held in his other hand. “Are you planning to buy all of them?”

“Of course I am,” JJ snorts. He finds two more ‘Seung Gil’ socks and stuffs them into the crook of the real Seung Gil’s elbow. “I'm my number one supporter.”

Seung Gil clutches the socks before they could fall and frowns at them, unknowingly replicating the exact expression of his miniature self. “This look likes my Instagram photo.”

“Does it really? Huh…wait a sec!” JJ examines one of his own socks, vague recognition rising in his mind. He takes out his cell phone to pull up his photos. “This looks like that time when I was at a party in Singapore. And that suitcase pose is just like Otabek’s escalator post. Hey…”

‘They’re copies from our SNS accounts,” Seung Gil concludes.

JJ laughs. “Well, look at that. There really was a pattern. Holmes, you’ve cracked the case!”

“It was hardly a mystery,” Seung Gil huffs. Still, he looks quite pleased with himself and it takes JJ very little effort to talk him into buying the namesake socks.

They’re not exactly BFF charms, but since nobody else would likely find this shop, it’s almost like they match.

After paying the money—the cashier gives them a suspicious stare—they’re back out into the street again. The crowd is denser than it was before, but rather than becoming slower, foot traffic seems to be moving faster. The two of them get swept into the rush with little warning, and it’s thrilling that despite his obviously foreign features, JJ isn’t getting very much attention at all. He’s just one of many in the market right now, and it feels easy to breath and laugh as much as he wants. Sometimes he thinks sees Seung Gil laugh too, which just makes his good mood float even higher.

He makes an effort to try every interesting food he sees—scallion pancake, takoyaki, flame-grilled skewers, roasted sugarcane juice.

“You eat a lot,” Seung Gil remarks as JJ bites into a cube of stinky tofu.

“ _Noooooo_ , you said it wrong.” JJ sighs with disappointment. “You’re supposed to say…  _JJ, whatever you eat, you are always beautiful_.” He flutters his eyelashes and touches a hand to his cheek.

“Do you have a fast metabolism?” Seung Gil asks, ignoring JJ’s theatrics.

“Hah, I _wish_.” JJ spears another cube of tofu. Despite the name and smell, the taste is surprisingly mild, maybe a bit sweet. The garlic soy sauce option had been a good choice. “I just love food. Whatever I eat, I just work to burn off later. Wanna try a bite of this? It’s actually pretty great.”

“No,” Seung Gil replies, grimacing.

“Your loss,” JJ says with a shrug, nibbling on a piece of pickled cabbage. He’d gotten the same reaction when he’d offered to share his scallion pancake. Maybe the guy didn’t like to share germs. JJ points to a passing girl eating small meat buns. “I’ve seen people with those. Where you suppose we can get them?”

Seung Gil stops walking to follow JJ’s line of sight. “The vendor may be further ahead. We just—” His sentences cuts off as he stumbles forward, knocked over by somebody hitting his back. JJ reaches out a hand to catch him, but the help is unneeded as an arm ropes around Seung Gil’s waist, steadying him from behind.

“Surprise!” Phichit Chulanont cheers in triumph, resting his chin above Seung Gil’s shoulder.

Seung Gil breathes a sigh. “It’s you.”

“It’s me!” Phichit says with a grin. He presses closer so that the two are cheek-to-cheek. “Did I get you? Did I scare you?”

“No,” Seung Gil denies. His ambusher giggles as if amused by the lie and doesn’t release his arm, trapping the other in a hug. The Korean athlete doesn’t change his expression, as if a situation like this was an ordinary thing. His only reaction is to relax his shoulders, making it easier for Phichit to rest his face against there.

JJ stares.

“I’m so happy I found you,” Phichit wails, swaying the two of them side to side, “Yuuri is on a date with Viktor, and I was getting lonely all by myself.”

“Seeing you alone is unusual,” Seung Gil remarks, evoking a laugh from the newcomer.

“Well, seeing _you_ **not** alone is unusual.” Phichit lifts his gaze up and smiles at JJ in acknowledgment. “Hi, JJ! Saw your coffee date on Instagram. Since when did you two get along?”

“Hey,” JJ greets, smiling in return. He glances between Phichit and Seung Gil, unable to ignore their proximity to each other. “We’ve been friends for a while now. Since last year?”

“We exchanged phone numbers in December,” Seung Gil says.

“Oh, just two months ago?” Phichit finally untangles from Seung Gil and stands to the side of him, revealing his full profile. His arms are strewn with more shopping bags than theirs combined, and something like a cream-filled crepe occupies one hand. “If it’s that much, I understand why nobody knew. All the comments were so surprised!”

Seung Gil makes a noncommittal hum, eyes fixated on the unfamiliar dessert. “What is that?”

“Oh, this?” Phichit lifts the hand holding the food. “It’s an ice cream spring roll! I got the pineapple flavor for mine. They put shaved peanut brittle inside it. Would you like a bite?”

“Thank you.”

JJ blinks.

He watches as Seung Gil bends to take a bite while holding Phichit’s wrist to steady the treat. The hugging, touching, and sharing imply a great deal of familiarity. The realization dawns that the two must be friends.

“It’s to your taste, right?” Phichit asks. His smile grows wider when Seung Gil nods. “The vendor isn’t too far from here. Let’s go get you one—oh.” The Thai figure skater calms down his enthusiasm and looks sheepishly between JJ and Seung Gil. “I should first ask if I can join you guys.”

Seung Gil shrugs. “Do what you want.”

“Is that okay, JJ?” Phichit asks, turning bright eyes to the remaining group member.

JJ startles at the question, but is quick to decide the appropriate answer. He gives his reply with his trademark grin, but it's strange. The words feel slow and difficult, as if they want to stay stuck his throat. “Sure. The more the merrier. Right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Taipei 101 tower is located in Xinyi District and is the tallest skyscraper in Taiwan. The mall on its lowest floors offers a wide selection of top international brands, along with a large food court and gourmet supermarket.   
>  • Línjiāng Night Market, also known as Tōnghuà Night Market, occupies Da’an District just beside Xinyi.   
>  • JJ and Leo are both 19 years old. Leo’s birthday is August 2nd, while JJ’s birthday is July 15th.   
>  • Colorado Springs is a city in the United States and home to the Broadmoor Skating Club. It’s a top choice training location, being within 10 miles of both the U.S. Figure Skating Association headquarters and the U.S. Olympic Training Center. I personally imagine it as Leo’s home rink.   
>  • Episode 12 features a flashback in which a younger JJ is training on the same rink as Leo.   
>  • The 2013-14 Four Continents Championships were also held in Taipei. JJ would’ve been 17 years old, so it was likely the season of his senior debut.   
>  • Yán sū jī is Taiwanese salted crispy chicken. It’s made from boneless thigh meat coated in sweet potato starch batter.   
>  • The socks are based on official merch. [[x]](https://twitter.com/twincre/status/800988177917825024/photo/1?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw&ref_url=http%3A%2F%2Fyurionicegoods.com%2Farchives%2Ftag%2F%25E3%2581%25A8%25E3%2581%2598%25E3%2582%25B3%25E3%2583%25AC) [[x]](https://twitter.com/twincre/status/810775395238821888)   
>  • The finalists for the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona were Yuri, Yuuri, JJ, Otabek, Chris, and Phichit. The GPF before that took place in Sochi, and finalists were Viktor, Chris, JJ, Cao Bin, Michele, and Yuuri.   
>  • JJ’s Instagram caption in the anime ending sequence reads 'Let's party now! (Smiling Face With Sunglasses ) #Singapore #party #it'sjjstyle’.   
>  • Scallion pancakes are made from dough and scallions, and have a chewy-crunky texture when eaten. It’s a simple and popular food with variations all over Asia.   
>  • Takoyaki is a Japanese dish made from minced octopus, tempura scraps, picked ginger, and scallions. The ingredients are mixed into wheat flour batter and grilled into the shape of balls.   
>  • Deep-fried stinky tofu is fermented tofu fried in hot oil and is typically eaten with soy sauce and sour pickled vegetables.   
>  • Huāshēng juǎn bīngqílín is a Taiwanese snack that is ice cream, peanut brittle shavings, and coriander wrapped like a spring roll in popiah skin. It is a popular treat at night markets.   
> 
> 
> This was supposed to be from only Seung Gil’s POV, but then JJ stole it and never gave it back. Hah. Hahaha… I guess it's alright since today is his birthday. (￣▽￣;)  
>  Not much happens with plot this time around—steadily building to something—but it’s funny to compare it to how they got along back in Moscow. The difference was greater than I planned, but I like it. I want to know your thoughts about it too. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are much loved and appreciated! 
> 
> OH! And for those who asked about or like music, I've added a playlist link to the notes! You can find it on the first chapter page, right under the fic summary. (⌒ω⌒)~ ♪♬ Thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Brontide_ [English] - (n.) a low rumbling sound like distant thunder thought to be caused by faint earth tremors

>        **Sara:** NOT FAIR!! I want to take photos with you too!  (Loudly Crying Face )

Seung Gil plops down at the edge of his hotel bed, hair damp from his late night shower. He lets the towel drop to his shoulders as he brings his phone closer to his eyes. In honesty, he’d expected a sooner reaction than this. His fingers tap against the screen.  

> You’re not in Taipei.
> 
> **Sara:** (Loudly Crying Face ) (Loudly Crying Face ) (Loudly Crying Face ) (Loudly Crying Face )
> 
> **Sara:** Maybe I should go to 4CC and cheer for you!
> 
> I think it’s too late to do that.
> 
> **Sara:** I’m going to do it!
> 
> Then your brother will follow you. Then Emil will follow him.
> 
> **Sara:** I can invite Mila to make the number even!
> 
> No.
> 
> That’s not my point.
> 
> A last minute plan like that is impossible.
> 
> **Sara:** Ugh I know…
> 
> **Sara:** At least let me pretend (Tired Face )
> 
> We can see each other at Worlds.
> 
> **Sara:**  Are you making a promise?
> 
> **Sara:** Too late! It’s a promise now!
> 
> **Sara:** (Smiling Face With Halo )

“Hey, you!”

Seung Gil looks up from the screen to see his roommate glaring at him from the nearby coach. The moody senior is flipping through a hotel pamphlet with unnecessary violence. There are wrinkles and tears in the pages of paper despite them having looked clean just an hour ago. Seung Gil wonders if the older athlete is only like this around him. Always being so agitated seems tiring.

“How long are you going to play around with your phone?” The older athlete scowls and points the abused pamphlet at Seung Gil. “Your hair’s dripping water everywhere. You’re a human, not a dog.”

Seung Gil lifts one end of his towel and uses it to wipe the water dripping down his neck. “I can’t find the hair dryer.”

“What?” His roommate throws the pamphlet aside. “Why are you only saying that after I talk first, huh?”

Seung Gil could say many things in reply to that, but refrains. He wants the next several days to be tolerable, at the least. The senior glowers at the silence and rises to stomp to the other hotel bed. Its sheets and blankets are a rumpled mess, so it takes a couple minutes to find the hair dryer tangled in the folds. Seung Gil watches as it gets tossed to him, bouncing as it lands next to him on his mattress.

“You better put it back after using it,” warns his roommate, willfully ignoring the hypocrisy of his words.

Seung Gil takes a measured breath and picks up the hair dryer. He hears more offhand remarks on his way to the bathroom, but he marches across the room without reacting and closes the door shut. 

What was that English word again?

A _nuisance_. Something or someone that’s annoying. _Obnoxious_. Offensive and troubling…

He stabs the plug into the outlet as he thinks up more words and creates an imaginary list as he dries his hair. He know it is petty, but it’s a harmless revenge. A text alert interrupts the mental exercise. Reminded that he hadn’t replied back to Sara, Seung Gil points the dryer away and takes out his phone. 

> **Sara:** Getting ready to sleep soon? Mickey reminded me the time.  
> 
> **Sara:** Good night! I’ll wait for more photos tomorrow! (Smiling Face With Open Mouth And Smiling Eyes )

Seung Gil sighs, partly amused, and sends a responding ‘good night’. The photos that Sara keeps going on about aren’t even his. Phichit was the one who went picture happy, snapping selfie after selfie with practiced precision. He’d even captured JJ and Seung Gil in candid shots, causing the latter two to receive an influx of Instagram notifications. Featuring in Phichit’s photos is a quick way to gain more followers. Seung Gil thought the Canadian socialite would be delighted at such an advantage, but JJ had been oddly unexcited.

JJ’s unwell appearance comes to mind then. Seung Gil's reflection frowns back at him as he faces the bathroom mirror to resume drying his hair. He tries to recall if there’d been any recent peculiar news, but all current events in the figure skating community are overshadowed by the engagement between Viktor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri. Trying to navigate any news or media network has been hell ever since the Grand Prix Final. He’d been distracted today, but he can talk to JJ about it next time.

“—Seung—in there?”

Seung Gil shuts off the dryer, thinking he heard someone outside the door.

“—Gil, come out a moment.”

 Recognizing the voice, he unplugs and stores away the dryer, satisfied enough with his hair to be done with it. His return to the main room is met by two expectant stares, his coach’s stern gaze and his roommate’s glare. Both are holding printed schedules that look like the music rotation for the official practices. Seung Gil takes the third copy that Min So offers him and confirms his guess to be right.

“I’m here to review your schedules.” Min So taps a pen against the notebook she has with her. It’s open to a page riddled with notes. “You’re both in Group 3 for practice sessions, but you have separate personal appointments. I thought it best to make reminders and time adjustments tonight. Have a seat.”

Seung Gil nods and does as instructed, squinting at the sheet of paper in his hands. He’s engrossed in trying to read the times slots, so he only registers his mistake after hearing an offended sigh.

“Hey, don’t treat my bed like a sofa,” his roommate snaps, “Go sit on your own.”

Indeed, Seung Gil had misjudged and had sat beside the older figure skater. He shuffles his feet, making to stand back up.

“Really, what kind of family raised you?” the other says under his breath.

Seung Gil stops moving and stares at him. “Don’t talk about my family.”

His roommate blinks as if taken aback, but the surprise quickly shifts to annoyance. “What, you don’t see the problem? You threw a fuss at the airport over your stupid luggage and then just left your other one with us without even a goodbye! We had to haul it here for you, for what? After finally showing up with your precious case, you run off again to go _shopping_. What are you, a teenage girl? Is this a vacation to you?”

“How I spend my free time doesn’t concern you,” Seung Gil replies. Something simmers in his chest, pushing him to retaliate. “You should be more worried about yourself. From what I see, you’re more focused on others instead of your own flaws.”

“Oh, so you’re flawless?” The older competitor laughs, mean with sarcasm. “Where are your medals to prove it then? Don’t kid yourself, brat. Everyone here is a different level from you. Viktor Nikiforov spent half the season having a love affair and then won the Europeans Championship like it was _easy_. You think you can compare?”

“Going by scores, even half my effort seems to be worth more than yours.”

The frown on the senior’s face widens into a sneer. “You fucking son of a—”

“ **Kim Jae Won**.” Min So’s voice is cold and flat. “ **Lee Seung Gil**.”

The two competitors fall silent, the chill in their coach’s voice effectively cooling their anger. Min So stands over them, arms crossed and face an intimidating mask of calm. Her height is shorter than theirs, but in that moment, she looms impossibly tall.

“I know the two of you are not on good terms, but this is not the place and time for nonsense.” Her gaze narrows and the two students straighten their postures in reflex. “My job is to raise athletes, not children. If you insist on behaving as such, I’ll respect your wishes and assign you to learning with the elementary kids. Unless, of course, I am mistaken?”

The question is presented like a threat, motivating the young men to passionately shake their heads.

“Then don’t show such behavior again. Am I understood?”

Very understood. So understood that the two roommates exchange looks, agreeing to a silent truce. Park Min So is a competent coach who expects dedication and discipline. She doesn’t push her nose into her students’ personal lives—rather, she encourages them to maintain well-balanced lifestyles—but she has no tolerance for drama that steals time from figure skating. Especially drama between her students. Satisfied with their response, Min So continues where she left off, going over workout regimes, equipment checks, and each skater’s individual schedule. Seung Gil hides a grimace when she mentions a fan meet-and-greet, not looking forward to the obligation. He decides to focus on a different appointment instead—lunch with Damien Guillory, the day after tomorrow at 12:30 PM.

Seung Gil is more nervous and excited than he cares to admit. He’d been preparing himself for a rejection when weeks passed without word from Damien Guillory, but then the older gentleman finally contacted him in late January. He’d re-read the email twice before accepting that _yes_ —Damien Guillory agreed to be his choreographer. Haru, always quick to read his moods, celebrated with him by howling until his mother visited his room. After hearing the news, she prepared _galbi_ for dinner and even his father seemed very impressed. He doesn’t understand figure skating, but had heard enough from his son to understand that Damien Guillory is selective. The only unexcited reaction had come from Min So, who said she hadn’t expected any less. She’d suggested setting the first meeting for after the skating events, but then conceded that the anticipation would cause him more distraction than prevent it. Seung Gil has always been bad at dealing with things that he couldn’t immediately determine or solve. Suspending an important meeting would personally be worse for his performance.

After their talk concludes with an agreement to a team dinner tomorrow, Min So leaves her students to retire to bed. Sleep comes surprisingly easy to Seung Gil and the restful night does wonders for him the next day. There’s no lingering jet lag and he feels light on his feet even after a morning run. His good condition promises a productive first practice, fueling his impatience. Since competitors can’t skate outside of official practices, he is itching to get on the ice. The other skaters in Group 3 act as if they feel the same way, jumping triples during warm-up despite having no public audience to impress. He’s in a quiet practice group this time around. Apart from the two Koreans, none of the others share the same nationalities. A few of them manage to exchange light greetings in English, but when their eyes meet Seung Gil’s they only apologize and speed off. He doesn’t understand it, having done nothing to them. And it doesn’t seem like bullying, since Otabek Altin receives the treatment as well. Min So picks up on her student’s puzzlement and clicks her tongue when Seung Gil finishes warming up.

“You won’t get anywhere unless you lighten your expression,” she chides.

Seung Gil sips from his water bottle with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Oh goodness,” the coach says with a sigh. “I told you to work on your interview skills for good reason. You need to relax.”

“Interviews are not relaxing.”

“I mean that interactions go easier when you force yourself relaxed for them.”

Seung Gil tries to parse her words. “…That sounds too contrary.”

Min So sighs again, but leaves it be, switching her focus to her older student as he readies for his turn with music. “Jae Won. Pay focus to the second half. Your step sequence is excellent, so give the other elements more concern. It’s fine to use more expression since both of your programs are ballads.”

“Alright,” he agrees and breaths deeply, closing his eyes as he pulls his arms into a deep stretch. Min So waits and holds out a water bottle when he unbends his body. Eyes still shut, Jae Won takes the offer in one fluid motion, somehow knowing it’s there without being told. The awareness is obviously learned through habit. The senior is Min So’s oldest and longest student, after all.

Seung Gil begins his own stretches and focuses on the ache in his muscles. It shouldn’t matter to him. The more time people share, the better they understand each other. Seung Gil, in comparison, has only been Min So’s student for two years. He sometimes wonders if she remembers their first meeting. It’d been years prior, back when his sister took him to the skating rink just for fun. He’d been copying the figure eights that some teenagers were doing when Min So approached him like a storm, urging him to take proper lessons without even introducing herself. She was scary, but her advice had changed everything for him.

There’s a twinge in his left shoulder so Seung Gil moves to crack and readjust it. A deep exhale escapes him as pain mellows into relief. Min So teaches well, that’s what matters. He needs to forget about everything else and focus on the only important thing, which is to _skate_.

When his turn comes in the practice rotation, Seung Gil  practically runs onto the ice and into his routines. His recklessness affects his performance, but his earlier assessment proves correct and he skates in peak form. From the bottoms of his feet to the tips of his fingers, all parts of his body move as he wants them to. He expects his coach to reprimand him for being too eager, but instead she looks impressed.

“Good work,” she says, “The feeling you put in was perfect. Different from before, it suits the theme better.”

“That…” Seung Gil gasps to catch his breath. “How was it different?”

Min So raises a thin brow. “You don’t know?” At his silence, her expression becomes thoughtful. “Well…go through the beginning again. Your rush made your turns wider. It looks better that way, so adjust to those degrees."

Those words are more comprehensible to him. Seung Gil follows her advice and polishes his performance, adding to the improvements he’s made since the Rostelecom Cup. His programs have come a long way in the three months since, but something continues to feel lacking. It bothers him even after practice ends and he thinks hard on what else could be refined as he cleans his skates.

“Seung Gil, drink.”

He freezes in the middle of straightening the laces, going rigid with dread at that one simple word.

Min So sighs and flips open the cap. “Why do you act like this every time? Hurry and drink.”

Ugh.

A sidelong glance shows a grim-faced Jae Won with a dreaded thermos of his own. Back home, they have their families to provide them proper meals, but competing abroad leaves them to feed themselves. Min So isn’t one to coddle her students, but since their nutritional intake impacts their athleticism, it’s her habit to distribute health drinks that make up for potential deficiency.

The tradition is well intended, but it means that she creates drinks specifically from the foods they hate to eat the most.

Seung Gil reluctantly sets aside his gear and accepts the thermos, bringing it to his face. He feels sick at the sight of the green sludge inside it.

“I won’t let you leave until I see it empty,” warns Min So. She crosses her arms, unmoving like a statue. Full of reluctance, Seung Gil holds the lip of the container to his mouth and holds it there while barely breathing. “At this rate, we’ll end up spending lunch together. If you don’t drink, you must eat a salad instead.”

Oh, fuck it.

Restraining his disgust, Seung Gil lifts the thermos and chugs, praying it to quickly be over. He almost chokes at the grassy taste and does his best to not imagine what vegetables created such a flavor. His trainer and the nurse practitioner cheer in encouragement, but Seung Gil is too distressed to appreciate the support. The drink is thick and pulpy with a consistency like slime. It’s difficult to swallow and the texture makes the flavor stick in his throat. Seung Gil thrusts the thermos to Min So as soon as he’s done and grabs his water bottle to wash down the aftertaste. No matter how many times, he never gets used to this. He hears the senior gag as he downs his own drink and feels glad to at least not be suffering alone.

“Afternoon practice is at 5:20 in the main rink,” says Mins So. She remains unfazed at her students’ struggle and waits for them to regain their composure. “It’ll be your first chance to get a feel for it, so stay sharp. We’ll meet in the hotel lobby thirty minutes prior. Alright?”

“Y-yes,” Seung Gil manages to cough. He takes another gulp of water and wipes a hand over his mouth. His stomach flops at the sight of green smeared on his skin and he rushes for the tissues kept in his backpack. The worst of it is over, but he really wants something besides water to overwrite the taste.

“Seung Gil! _Annyeong_!”

The greeting echoes across the rink, startling several people into turning heads. There’s only one person who would shout to him like that that. Seung Gil looks around for the source and spots a familiar Thai figure skater waving from among the arriving members of Group 4. Phichit grins when their eyes meet and turns to speak to someone behind him while pointing across the arena. Seung Gil can make out crazed hand gestures, but Phichit just laughs and grabs their to drag them along. Only one other person reacts to their leave and chases after them. When the three finally breaks through the crowd, Seung Gil recognizes the two others as representatives of Japan.

“You didn’t react at all!” Phichit laments once within earshot. “You always have the same face, Seung Gil. So boring.”

“You always do the same thing.” Seung Gil replies, unbothered. Phichit has an honest face, so it’s easy to tell when he only means to tease. Their long acquaintance has familiarized him to the other’s antics. Seung Gil passes a look over the other two. While both Japanese, they couldn’t be any more different. The shorter of the two looks bright-eyed and cheery while Yuuri looks gloomy as he fidgets in place. The latter is known for his nervous behavior at competitions. It’s nothing out of the ordinary to see him sulking alone in dark corners or holding his head in his hands.

“Ah, should I introduce you?” Phichit says, following Seung Gil’s line of sight. He waves to the short skater behind him. “This is—”

“Hello!” the teenager blurts, skipping closer. His voice is high and excited, making him seem even younger. “My name is Mina— _uh_! K-Kenjirou Minami.” He giggles sheepishly. “Heheh. I forgot names are backwards. Happy to meet you!”

“Hello,” Seung Gil responds in kind.

“You should say hello too, Yuuri!” Phichit points a sunny smile at the third in their trio. “You haven’t seen him since the Rostelecom Cup, right?”

“Hu-huell…o.” The sound comes out more like a gurgle than a word. Katsuki Yuuri looks pained, like it hurts him to speak. The behavior is disturbing and doesn't escape their attention.

“ _Senpai, daijoubu desu ka?_ ” asks Kenjirou with obvious concern.

“Ah? Ha—yeah!” There’s a tremble in Yuuri’s voice which he tries to hide with weak laughter.

“I heard the two of you drank together,” Phichit says to Seung Gil, all smiles. Yuuri freezes and aims a betrayed look at the Thai athlete.

“Yes,” says Seung Gil, feeling uneasy.

“Do you remember anything fun?” Phichit asks. He leans forward encouragingly while Kenjirou worries over his senior’s condition.

Seung Gil frowns as he connects that time to Yuuri’s current behavior. “Is that…important?”

Kenjirou’s yelp is all the warning Seung Gil gets before Yuuri rushes him and stares him down with wild, despairing eyes. The unnerved Korean raises a hand to push the other away, but it gets captures by Yuuri who takes it desperately between his own.

“It wasn’t important so please forget everything. Wipe it from your memory, I beg you.” Yuuri speaks low and insistent. His words are so fast with panic that it takes all of Seung Gil’s focus to keep up. “I’m sorry, my shameful display does not deserve to remembered. It’s my fault for creating such a terrible memory during should have been just a normal gala. My terrible drinking habit is inherited from my father, but it’s completely my fault for recklessly drinking around innocent people. I can’t apologize enough for dragging you into—oh my god, I was dancing on a table when you _passed out_. I got you sick and I didn’t even notice. I’m so shameless to be talking to you now…”

“I…I was already drinking anyway.” Seung Gil struggles for words as Yuuri continues his depressive spiral. He has the irrational thought that the Japanese man would altogether disappear if he shrank any further in shame. “I would’ve ignored you, but I like dogs.”

“Oh my god. I told you about _Vicchan_.” Yuuri slumps and hides his face in his hands. “I don’t even know what to say anymore. You can hate me, but please forget everything. If you can’t, then kill me now.”

“It’s fine. I don’t hate you,” says an alarmed Seung Gil.

Yuuri groans and shakes his head. “Oh no, you’re nice. That makes this _worse_.”

“You guys are funny!” Phichit laughs, looking between the two. “And you get along really well.”

“ _Senpai, sugee kakkoii_ ,” muses Kenjirou. His eyes look like they’re sparkling. “Social drinking, wow. It’s so adult!”

Seung Gil and Yuuri exchange looks, uncertain if this counts as ‘getting along’. Before either of them can correct the assumption, Phichit claps his hands and exclaims that has an excellent idea.

“How about we all hang out together?” The Thai athlete looks delighted at the prospect. He aims his enthusiasm at Seung Gil who seems the least convinced. “The night market was fun yesterday, right? We ate tasty treats and I got so many good photos. Hey, if we stay together, I bet you will get better at selfies too!”

“That’s not an important skill,” replies Seung Gil.

“Not true!” Phichit argues back. He waves his cell phone in the air as he makes his point. “My photos of you get tons of likes because you don’t take enough. And the photo JJ posted has over ten thousand likes now!”

Seung Gil blinks. “What?”

“You don’t take responsibility for your pretty face, so the public needs to depends on us.” Phichit sighs like a disappointed parent, but then cheers up again. “So let’s eat lunch together! You can meet us after our practice. How about it? Hmm?”

The invitation is warm and friendly, but Seung Gil’s reluctance is strong. Just standing here together feels awkward enough. He seems to be the trigger for Yuuri’s hysteria and has no idea how to treat such a delicate person. Meanwhile, Kenjirou keeps alternating between looking confused or starstruck, which marks him as someone too young to relate to. The thought of sharing a meal with such people is off-putting.

“You can’t?” Phichit asks at the hesitation. He pouts, but there’s no disappointment in his voice. Though he is the one pushing the offer, his expression remains carefree. Rather, he looks like he expects Seung Gil to continuously decline.

Seung Gil glances at the other two of the group. He knows from Instagram that Yuuri and Phichit are best friends. Meanwhile, Kenjirou is Yuuri’s junior and has a bright personality to match Phichit’s. The group is fine as it is, there’s no space for him here. That makes only one answer appropriate.

“No,” Seung Gil says, then fumbles to make up a believable excuse. “I have a—” Something falls on his shoulder, surprising his mouth shut. 

“He already has the honor of eating with **me**!”

The voice is familiar, but the arrogant words register first. Seung Gil turns, ready to glare down whoever is touching him, only to see JJ stuck by his side. The Canadian has an arm propped on his shoulder in casual claim. When he notices Seung Gil’s confusion, JJ smirks and sneaks him a playful wink.

“Oh?” Phichit stares at odd pair and taps his chin in speculation. “But I didn’t hear you decide that yesterday.”

JJ releases a lofty laugh and leans against Seung Gil like he belongs there and has no thought to leave. “It’s the word of the king! What more do you need?”

Seung Gil frowns, knowing for certain that they’d made no promise to meet up. JJ doesn’t even have a reason to be near the practice arena. The Canadian skaters are in Group 1, which finished practice over an hour ago. Seung Gil opens his mouth to point this out, but loses his chance to another interruption.

“ _Minami-kun_ , _koko ni kite_!” A woman shouts from rinkside, a hand cupped to her mouth while the other waves in the air for attention. Seung Gil recognizes her from past competitions as a person whom Min So spoke with on occasion. ‘Odagaki’ is all that he can recall as a name.

“Phichit! Yuuri!” Celestino Cialdini captures more than a few glances with his booming voice. The coach points to the ice as explanation, an easy-to-understand indicator that the Group 4 warm up will soon begin.

“Aw, too bad then,” Phichit sighs. He follows after Yuuri and Kenjirou in a dash to the rink, waving behind him in a hasty farewell. “Seung Gil- _ah_ , _najunge boja_!”

“Was that Korean? What does it mean?” JJ asks, still stuck to Seung Gil.

“To see each other later.” Seung Gil detaches himself from JJ and returns to his bench to resume packing. He feels somewhat annoyed. “When did I say that I would eat with you?”

“Don’t assume,” Seung Gil retorts, though he privately agrees. The choice isn’t just less awkward, but more practical. Skating had worked up his appetite and eating sooner than later would be better for him. He should logically concede to JJ’s point, but he doesn’t want to. He dislikes having decisions made for him. “I can eat by myself.”

“No way.” JJ plucks a skate guard out of Seung Gil’s hand. The shorter of two scoffs and snatches it back, but JJ doesn’t let go and gets pulled forward. Their heads connect with a soft thud and the playful thief chuckles at the other’s surprised yelp. “I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Seung Gil forgets about the skate guard and backs away from the bench, rubbing his forehead with a scowl. The bump hadn’t hurt, it’d just taken him off guard. He can feel the back of his neck burn with embarassment and is thankful for the high collar on his jacket. “Not funny.”

“Pretty please?” JJ pleads. He flutters his eyelashes and leans a cheek against his hand. The acting is absurd, but his next words are an assault to the ears. “Seung Gil- _oppa_ ~”

“ **No**.” An incredible desire for violence overtakes Seung Gil as a chill runs down his spine. All the other names that JJ has called him is preferable to _that_. “ **Never say that again**.”

“But that ruins my fun.” JJ pouts and plays with the skate guard still in his possession, turning it over in his hands. “Hm, then let’s make a deal. Hang out with me. I have the best time when I’m with you.”

They’re just going around in circles now. Arguing feels pointless when JJ makes it so tiresome. Seung Gil sighs and gives up. “Then keep your promise.”

“I solemnly swear,” JJ says, holding up a hand in oath. His victory grin is inconveniently charming as he presents the skate guard like a peace item. “Still mad at me, princess?”

Seung Gil huffs as he takes the offering. He packs the rest of his equipment without further harassment and begrudgingly faces JJ, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll let it go.”

An unseemly sound erupts from JJ’s mouth, involuntary like a sneeze but a more complicated noise. The afflicted brunet throws both hands over his mouth to smother it, but starts hacking as if there’s something in his lungs. Alarmed, Seung Gil half turns, prepared to call his nurse practitioner for help, but then JJ starts speaking and the escaping sounds are revealed as fits of laughter.

“No no no no, I’m not— _nngh_ —it’s just you don’t even, didn’t see the… _krgh_ … _mmphahahaha_!”

Seung Gil bears witness as the taller athlete doubles over, so devastated by hysterics that he needs to use the bench as support. It looks painful, but he feels no pity for JJ’s plight. Instead, Seung Gil shuts and secures his equipment case, shoulders his backpack, and begins walking away.

“Hey!” JJ wheezes between gasps for air. He steps over the bench and runs to catch up. “Hey, w-wait!”

Seung Gil ignores the commotion behind him until he feels the handle of his equipment case get yanked out of his hand. He spins around to JJ holding it hostage and makes a grab for the case with a frown. “Stop stealing my things.”

“Nuh uh, I’ll help carry the heavy stuff,” JJ insists. He guards the case by keeping it behind him, using his height and built to his advantage. The spectacle is childish, but his playful tone is earnest, conveying that he means well by his actions.

“It has wheels. It isn’t heavy.” Seung Gil sighs. The selfish helpfulness reminds him of the shopping bags from yesterday. Based on experiences thus far, JJ is impossible to dissuade when he sets his mind to a task. He wonders if it’s the ‘king’ mentality that makes the young superstar so nosey. Seung Gil shouldn’t allow a foreign competitor act as his pack mule, but the way JJ is acting reminds him very much of Haru. It’s the Siberian blue eyes and the puppy-like behavior of trying to appeal to him after bad behavior. The giggles of bystanders should be making the whole situation annoying, but instead he thinks it’s almost cute. “Do what you want.”

“Not giving in matter wh—woah, really? Haha, can’t resist my charm, can you?” JJ does a showy dance with the equipment case, spinning and dipping it like a lady. It looks so absurd that Seung Gil has to suppress snorts. “Was that a laugh? You know how to laugh! Well, almost.”

“Of course I do,” says Seung Gil. JJ gets excited over the most mundane things.

“Well, I’ve never heard it.” JJ starts counting things off on his fingers as they walk. “I haven’t heard you laugh, never heard you thank me, you don’t say my name, I haven’t seen you dance, we haven’t gone drinking together, we’ve never had a sleepover…”

“We live in separate countries, so the last one isn’t practical,” criticizes Seung Gil. He mulls over the others. “I’ve thanked you before.”

“Nope. Never ever,” declares JJ.

“I’m sure that in the messages—”

“It doesn’t count if it’s not in person!” JJ insists. He rushes ahead when they approach the first set of doors and holds them open as Seung Gil passes through. “I’m a sensitive soul. I notice these things.”

Seung Gil goes quiet in thought. “So I haven’t said your name?”

“Are you gonna start?” JJ’s eyes shine with excited expectation.

Seung Gil stares at him for a long moment before facing ahead again with a smirk. “No.”

JJ groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t play with my feelings, snowflake. That hurts.”

“I take no responsibility for your 'sensitive soul'.” The exit to the building is up ahead, so Seung Gil wraps on a scarf to combat the cold. It take as bit of push to open the door against the wind, but the weather itself isn’t unpleasant. The two of them manage the four-minute walk to the Sunworld Dynasty Hotel just fine, exchanging details of their schedules for the week. Seung Gil leaves out mentioning his important lunch meeting, not wanting to give Damien any trouble by causing rumors. He couldn’t chance messing anything up. 

“So, yours is on the 8th floor?” JJ says as Seung Gil presses his room key into the door slot. Into the lobby and up the elevator, JJ had insisted on delivering Seung Gil’s case directly to his room. “Mine too. It’s the opposite hall from the elevators, one left, then the sixth door on the right. We’re pretty close!”

“Hm.” Seung Gil twists the door handle when the lock sensor blinks green only to trip forward when the door opens before he pushes. From the inside, Jae Won yelps and as the two of them narrowly avoid colliding and then scowls once he sees who’s at the door.

“ _Naleul jugyeogu sipeoseo nollae_?” the senior seethes. He notices the person behind Seung Gil and frowns. “Why are you here?”

JJ grins and introduces himself before performing his signature pose. “King Jean-Jacques Leroy, here to bring you…JJ style!”

Seung Gil takes back his bad opinion of JJ’s catchphrase. The expression on his roommate is priceless and he has bite the inside of his cheek to maintain a straight face. Jae Won slowly looks at him and leans forward to hiss in Korean.

“I don’t like him.” Jae Won stresses his words to impart them with importance. “Don’t let him into our room. He’s weird.”

“He…” Seung Gil can’t deny JJ’s eccentricity. “…isn’t bad.”

“He’s suspicious.” Jae Won scowls and flicks his gaze to JJ and back. The Canadian athlete beams at them cluelessly. “He’s hiding something. He smiles like a pervert.”

Seung Gil swallows the urge to call his roommate a paranoid idiot and makes a noncommittal hum as an answer. The older man glares, but doesn’t push the matter. He shoves past them instead, throwing on a jacket as he stomps to the end of the hall and leaves their sight.

“Wow.” JJ sidles up to Seung Gil and nudges him. “He’s as charming you.”

Seung Gil gives him an offended look.

“D’aw,” JJ drawls, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re my favorite!”

“I don’t want a position that is useless to me,” Seung Gil replies, unimpressed. He toes off his shoes and wheels his case into the room.

“Ouch. Don’t pull your punches, do you?” JJ leans against the doorframe, clutching his chest as if hurt. “You’ve been really mean today. What happened to the nice and cuddly Seung Gil from yesterday?”

Seung Gil stands the case beside his bed and walks back towards the door. “What nonsense are you speaking?”

“You and Phichit were stuck together like glue.” JJ laughs, though the sound falls flat. He makes room for Seung Gil to lock and shut the door. “You two must be close.”

“We’re just familiar from years of acquaintance,” replies Seung Gil absently as he does a quick check of the things on his person. Satisfied that he has all he needs, he heads back for the elevators.

“Oh. Yeah?” JJ falls into uncharacteristic silence. He aimlessly studies the doors in the hallway before blurting his next words. “Since the juniors’ training camps in America?” 

Seung Gil stops in his tracks and gives him a look.

“Hey, I was in them too!” JJ says, affronted by the pure surprise of the reaction. His faces pinches in displeasure. “Guess you don’t remember me.”

“Faces without names all look the same to me,” Seung Gil says, feeling just a slight bit sorry. He thinks back to the past, trying to explain how things were. “Phichit was a rinkmate. We naturally spent more time together.”

“Hm,” JJ muses with obvious curiosity as they continue their path to elevators. “Rinkmates.”

“I trained in Boston,” Seung Gil elaborates. The guilt of not remembering JJ makes him generous with words. “Phichit was in the same skating club and we trained under the same coach. He moved to Detroit when he changed contract to learn under Celestino Cialdini.”

“So you’re friends,” JJ deduces. He pauses and tilts his head when he sees Seung Gil’s puzzled expression. “If you’ve known each other for that long, you’re friends, right?”

“Not exactly,” Seung Gil says, frowning. He prefers to avoid this topic whenever it comes up since he doesn’t know what to make of it either.

His current social skills may be lacking, but they had been downright abysmal during his time in the States. Adapting to a foreign country had been hard enough as an kid, but after-school training meant that he had no time to develop a social life. In that circumstance, Phichit Chulanont was the closest to a friend that he had. They’d spent so much time together that Seung Gil had thought he was, but then they changed coaches and moved and everything was gone. They barely keep in contact, going months without hearing from each other, and only meet at competitions which amounts to two or three times a year. Whenever they do talk, neither of them ever ask about the other’s personal life or feelings. They may seem to act like their old selves, but it feels lacking, like they’re playing charades. It stings to know how easy it is for a years-long relationship to become shallow, but it seems inevitable the more Seung Gil analyzes it. They’d hung out together because it was convenient, and without that convenience, of course they would drift apart.

Seung Gil sighs, not liking where his thoughts are going, and dismisses the matter to avoid thinking further. “Just acting close doesn’t mean that we are.”

“Then what am…” JJ trails off, causing Seung Gil to cast him a questioning glance. There’s a dazed look in the Canadian’s face, as if a sudden problem is troubling him. JJ blinks slowly and then rubs his eyes. He replaces the odd pause with a chuckle. “Sorry. Forgot what I was gonna say. Must be tired.”

“You look tired,” Seung Gil replies. The turn in conversation draws his attention to the other’s haggard appearance and he remembers his earlier concern for JJ’s health. “Did something affect you before arriving here?”

JJ’s foot catches on the carpet as they make the final turn to reach the elevators. He laughs off the clumsy stumble and straightens his jacket. “Nope, I’m not sick. I’m a perfect specimen as always. No flaws and in great shape.”

Seung Gil furrows his brow as he presses the call button for a platform. “I meant it when I said you looked terrible at the airport. It wasn’t noticeable it in your photos, but your complexion is poor. Ruling out sickness, has anything important chang—”

“ **I’m fine**.”

The intense reply is so abrupt that even JJ seems startled by his own voice. Their casual atmosphere turns strange and uneasy, but JJ works to make the mood normal again by filling the air with awkward laughs. “Sorry, that’s weird. Must be the jet lag. It was really bad this time, maybe that’s why I seem off. Ah, but my little brother did prank me last week. Maybe I’m traumatized from that, I don’t know. Or it could be stress from school. I have this midterm paper…”

Seung Gil listens as JJ continues to babble and slowly relaxes the longer he goes on. There are more things he wants to say, but the timing no longer seems right that. He wonders if he had gone about his questions wrong, but JJ insists with every other sentence that the outburst was his own mistake.

“Seriously, nothing special happened despite your guessing, so don’t mind me, okay?”

“Alright,” Seung Gil agrees, despite the odd feeling the word gives him. He sincerely means it when he says it, but somehow it feels like a lie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • The 2015-16 European Championships occurred on January 27–31, nearly three weeks before the same season Four Continents Championships on February 18–21.   
>  • ISU Championships are organized so that athletes with shared nationalities are in the same practice group.   
>  • Not including the Winter Olympics, international championships do not allow registered competitors to skate outside of official practice sessions.   
>  • The 2015-16 Four Continents Championship did not have the practice sessions open to the public.   
>  • Practice sessions of ISU Championships alternate between a practice rink and the main rink where the event is held.   
>  • Annyeong [Korean] - (int.) hello; informal greeting   
>  • [Translation from Japanese] Senpai, daijoubu desk kai? ⥤ Senpai, are you okay? (we all know what ‘senpai’ means)   
>  • [Translation from Japanese] Senpai, sugee kakkoii. ⥤ Senpai, so cool/manly. (’sugee’ is slang for ’sugoi’, popular with younger generation)   
>  • -kun [Japanese] - (suffix) used to address someone of lesser (age) status; used to address male children, teenagers, and friends; can be used to address females in certain circumstances such as by a superior to address younger female employees   
>  • [Translation from Japanese] Minami-kun, koko ni kite! ⥤ Minami-kun, come here!   
>  • Odagaki Kanako is the official name of Minami Kenjirou’s coach.   
>  • -ah [Korean] - (suffix) used to address someone of equal or lesser (age) status, specifically when calling or talking to that particular person   
>  • [Translation from Korean] Seung Gil-ah, najunge boja! ⥤ Seung Gil-ah, see you later!   
>  • The Sunworld Dynasty Hotel was the official hotel for the 2015-16 Four Continents Championships.   
>  • [Translation from Korean] Naleul jugyeogu sipeoseo nollae? ⥤ Do you want to kill me with surprise?   
> 
> 
> Thank you for your (unintended) patience for this long overdue update. 人(_ _*)  
>  Our boys are at the Four Continents for a good time, but that might not be so easy. I’m sorry, this chapter came out a bit strange. Somehow, the pacing was harder to get into and I’m not satisfied with how it turned out. If any part is confusing, I will try to explain it better in the comments. 
> 
> Oh! And thanks so much for leaving comments and kudos even during the wait. ♡  
>  I’ll try not to take so long with the next update, so thanks so much for reading this far.


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